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BLACK ROCK 


THE SAME AUTHOR 


the sky pilot 


A Talc of tlie Foothills 


}JEIV EDITION, ILLUSTRATED 
I' rr\rrrc n>tjc jrt , ^ 


By LOUIS "RHEAD, 1 2mo, cloth, $1.2$ 


better than “ Black Rock 


DALPH CONNOR’S “Black Rock” was good, but 
“The Sky Pilot” is better. The matter which he 
gives us is real life ; virile, true, tender, humorous, 
pathetic, spiritual, wholesome. His Bret Harte manner in 
describing this life has at times a distinct and refreshing 
quality of literary workmanship ; his style, fresh, crisp 
and terse, accords with the Western life, which he well 
understands. Henceforth the foothills of the Canadian 
Rockies will probably be associated in many a mind with 
the name of “ Ralph Connor."— The Outlook. 


He is a Sky T*ilot ” himself 



CULL to overflowing of humor and pathos. . . . The 
^ “Sky Pilot” deals with the same class of people as 
“Black Rock.” I have made enquiries about Ralph 
Connor, and find that he is a Sky Pilot himself. He lives 
in the country and among the people described in his 
books, and the stories he tells are no doubt true to life. 
. . . His touch is true, but it is also fine. — Miss Jeanette 
Gilder, tn Harper's Bazaar. 

It touches the chords which vibrate 



CONNOR uses a pen dipped in the very colors 


and tones of the canon and the sunlit hills; his grasp 
of the characteristic^ slang is free and graphic, and his 
knowledge of the primitive vices and virtues is obviously 
no mere book-lore. The way the “Swan Creek Church” 
got opened while the little “Sky Pilot” lay a-dyingwill 
moisten the eyes of the sentimentally inclined. The “ Last 
of the Permit Sundays” is the result of an incident of high 
wrought pathos. Such a tale is sure to find numerous 
readers, for it touches just those chords which vibrate 
luxuriously in the popular heart.— ‘Bosfow Transcript. 


FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



B lack rock: a tale 

of the Selkirks . . by 


Ralph Connor 


With an Introduction 
by Professor George 
Adam Smith, LL.D. 



New York: Chicago: Toronto 
Fleming H. Revell Company 
1901 






C. 


Copyright 1900 
by 

FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 


INTRODUCTION 


I THINK I have met Ralph Connor.” Indeed, I 
am sure I have — once in a canoe on the Red River, 
once on the Assinaboine, and twice or thrice on the 
prairies to the West. That was not the name he 
gave me, but, if I am right, it covers one of the 
most honest and genial of the strong characters 
that are fighting the devil and doing good work for 
men all over the world. He has seen with his own 
eyes the life which he describes in this book, and 
las himself, for some years of hard and lonely toil, 
assisted in the good influences which he traces 
among its wild and often hopeless conditions. He 
v/rites with the freshness and accuracy of an eye- 
witness, with the style (as I think his readers will 
allow) of a real artist, and with the tenderness and 
hopefulness of a man not only of faith but of ex- 
perience, who has seen in fulfillment the ideals for 
which he lives. 

The life to which he takes us, though far off and 
very strange to our tame minds, is the life of our 
brothers. Into the Northwest of Canada the young 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER. page 

I. Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp 1 1 

II. The Black Rock Christmas 31 

III. Waterloo. Our Fight — His Victory 57 

IV. Mrs. Mayor’s Story 79 

V. The Making of the League 99 

VI. Black Rock Religion I19 

VII. The First Black Rock Communion 137 

VIII. The Breaking of the League 155 

IX. The League’s Revenge 177 

X. What Came to Slavin 197 

XI. The Two Calls 225 

XII. Love is Not All 245 

XIII. How Nelson Came Home 361 

XIV. Graeme’s New Birth 275 

XV. With the Shield, or on it 297 

XVI. Coming to their Own 305 


Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp 


• I 


CHAPTER I 


CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LUMBER CAMP 

It was due to a mysterious dispensation of Provi- 
dence, and a good deal to Leslie Graeme, that I 
found myself in the heart of the Selkirks for my 
Christmas Eve as the year 1882 was dying. It had 
been my plan to spend my Christmas far away in 
Toronto, with such Bohemian and boon companions 
as could be found in that cosmopolitan and kindly 
city. But Leslie Graeme changed all that, for, dis- 
covering me in the village of Black Rock, with my 
traps all packed, waiting for the stage to start for ' 
the Landing, thirty miles away, he bore down upon 
me with resistless force, and I found myself re- 
covering from my surprise only after we had gone 
in his lumber sleigh some six miles on our way to 
his camp up in the mountains. I was surprised and 
much delighted, though I would not allow him to 
think so, to find that his old-time power over me 
was still there. He could always in the old ’Varsity 
days — dear, wild days — make me do what he liked. 
He was so handsome and so reckless, brilliant in his 
class-work, and the prince of half-backs on the 


12 


Black Rock 


Rugby field, and with such power of fascination as 
would ‘extract the heart out of a wheelbarrow,’ 
as Barney Lundy used to say. And thus it was that 
1 found myself just three weeks later — 1 was to have 
spent two or three days, — on the afternoon of the 
24th of December, standing in Graeme’s Lumber 
Camp No. 2, wondering at myself. But 1 did not 
regret my changed plans, for in those three weeks 1 
had raided a cinnamon bear’s den and had wakened 
up a grizzly — But 1 shall let the grizzly finish the 
tale; he probably sees more humour in it than I. 

The camp stood in a little clearing, and consisted 
of a group of three long, low shanties with smaller 
shacks near them, all built of heavy, unhewn logs, 
with door and window in each. The grub camp, 
with cook-shed attached, stood in the middle of the 
clearing; at a little distance was the sleeping-camp 
with the office built against it, and about a hundred 
yards away on the other side of the clearing stood 
the stables, and near them the smiddy. The moun- 
tains rose grandly on every side, throwing up their 
great peaks into the sky. The clearing in which 
the camp stood was hewn out of a dense pine forest 
that filled the valley and climbed half way up the 
mountain-sides, and then frayed out in scattered 
and stunted trees. 


Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp 23 

It was One of those wonderful Canadian winter 
days, bright, and with a touch of sharpness in the 
air that did not chill, but warmed the blood like 
draughts of wine. The men were up in the woods, 
and the shrill scream of the blue jay flashing across 
the open, the impudent chatter of the red squirrel 
from the top of the grub camp, and the pert chirp 
of the whisky-jack, hopping about on the rubbish- 
heap, with the long, lone cry of the wolf far down 
the valley, only made the silence felt the more. 

As I stood drinking in with all my soul the 
glorious beauty and the silence of mountain and 
forest, with the Christmas feeling stealing into me, 
Graeme came out from his office, and, catching sight 
of me, called out, 'Glorious Christmas weather, 
old chap!' And then, coming nearer, ‘Must you 
go to-morrow ? ' 

‘I fear so,’ 1 replied, knowing well that the 
Christmas feeling was on him too. 

‘I wish 1 were going with you,’ he said quietly. 

I turned eagerly to persuade him, but at the look 
of suffering in his face the words died at my lips, 
for we both were thinking of the awful night of 
horror when all his bright, brilliant life crashed 
down about him in black ruin and shame. I could 
only throw my arm over his shoulder and stand 


Black Rock 


14 

silent beside him. A sudden jingle of bells roused 
him, and, giving himself a little shake, he ex- 
claimed, ‘ There are the boys coming home.’ 

Soon the camp was filled with men talking, 
laughing, chaffing, like light-hearted boys. 

‘They are a little wild to-night,’ said Graeme; 
‘and to-morrow they’ll paint Black Rock red.’ 

Before many minutes had gone, the last teamster 
was ‘washed up,’ and all were standing about 
waiting impatiently for the cook’s signal — the sup- 
per to-night was to be ‘ something of a feed ’ — 
when the sound of bells drew their attention to a 
light sleigh drawn by a buckskin broncho coming 
down the hillside at a great pace. 

‘The preacher. I’ll bet, by his driving,’ said one 
of the men. 

‘Bedad, and it’s him has the foine nose for 
turkey!’ said Blaney, a good-natured, jovial Irish- 
man. 

‘Yes, or for pay-day, more like,’ said Keefe, 
a black-browed, villainous fellow-countryman of 
Blaney’s, and, strange to say, his great friend. 

Big Sandy M’Naughton, a Canadian Highlander 
from Glengarry, rose up in wrath. ‘Bill Keefe,* 
said he, with deliberate emphasis, ‘you’ll just keep 
your dirty tongue the minister; and as for your 


Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp 15 

pay, it's little he sees of it, or any one else, except 
Mike Slavin, when you’re too dry to wait for some 
one to treat you, or perhaps Father Ryan, when the 
fear of hell-fire is on to you.’ 

The men stood amazed at Sandy’s sudden anger 
and length of speech. 

'Bon; dat’s good for you, my bully boy,’ said 
Baptiste, a wiry little French-Canadian, Sandy's 
sworn ally and devoted admirer ever since the day 
when the big Scotsman, under great provocation, 
had knocked him clean off the dump into the river 
and then jumped in for him. 

It was not till afterward I learned the cause of 
Sandy’s sudden wrath which urged him to such 
unwonted length of speech. It was not simply 
that the Presbyterian blood carried with it rever- 
ence for the minister and contempt for Papists and 
Fenians, but that he had a vivid remembrance of 
how, only a month ago, the minister had got him 
out of Mike Slavin’s saloon and out of the clutches 
of Keefe and Slavin and their gang of blood- 
suckers. 

Keefe started up with a curse. Baptiste sprang 
to Sandy’s side, slapped him on the back, and 
called out, ‘You keel him, I'll hit (eat) him up, 
me.’ 


i6 


Black Rock 


It looked as if there might be a fight, when a 
harsh voice said in a low, savage tone, ‘ Stop your 
row, you blank fools; settle it, if you want to, 
somewhere else.’ I turned, and was amazed to 
see old man Nelson, who was very seldom moved 
to speech. 

There was a look of scorn on his nard, iron-grey 
face, and of such settled fierceness as made me 
quite believe the tales I had heard of his deadly 
fights in the mines at the coast. Before any reply 
could be made, the minister drove up and called 
out in a cheery voice, ‘Merry Christmas, boys! 
Hello, Sandy! Comment ga va, Baptiste? How 
do you do, Mr. Graeme?’ 

‘First rate. Let me ntroduce my friend, Mr. 
Connor, sometime medical student, now artist, 
hunter, and tramp at large, but not a bad sort.' 

‘A man to be envied,’ said the minister, smiling. 
‘I am glad to know any friend of Mr. Graeme’s.' 

I liked Mr. Craig from the first. He had good 
eyes that looked straight out at you, a clean-cut, 
strong face well set on his shoulders, and altogether 
an upstanding, manly bearing. He insisted on go- 
ing with Sandy to the stables to see Dandy, his 
broncho, put up. 

‘Decent fellow,' said Graejne; ‘but though he 


Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp 17 

is good enough to his broncno, it is Sandy that’s in 
his mind now.’ 

‘Does he come out often ? I mean, are you part 
of his parish, so to speak ? ’ 

‘I have no doubt he thinks so; and I’m blowed 
if he doesn’t make the Presbyterians of us think sa 
too.’ And he added after a pause, ‘A dandy lot of 
parishioners we are for any man. There’s Sandy^ 
now, he would knock Keefe’s head off as a kind 
of religious exercise; but to-morrow Keefe will be 
sober, and Sandy will be drunk as a lord, and the 
drunker he is the better Presbyterian he’ll be, to the 
preacher’s disgust.’ Then after another pause he 
added bitterly, ‘ But it is not for me to throw rocks 
at Sandy; I am not the same kind of fool, but I am 
a fool of several other sorts.’ 

Then the cook came out and beat a tattoo on the 
bottom of a dish-pan. Baptiste answered with a 
yell: but though keenly hungry, no man would 
demean himself to do other than walk with ap- 
parent reluctance to his place at the table. At the 
further end of the camp W'as a big fireplace, and 
from the door to the fireplace extended the long 
board tables, covered with platters of turkey not 
too scientifically carved, dishes of potatoes, bowls 
of apple sauce, plates of butter, pies, and smaller 


Black Rock 


i8 

dishes distributed at regular intervals. Two lan- 
terns hanging from the roof, and a row of candles 
Stuck into the wall on either side by means of slit 
sticks, cast a dim, weird light over the scene. 

There was a moment’s silence, and at a nod from 
Graeme Mr. Craig rose and said, ‘I don’t know 
how you feel about it, men, but to me this looks 
good enough to be thankful for.’ 

‘ Fire ahead, sir,’ called out a voice quite respect- 
fully, and the minister bent his head and said — 

‘ For Christ the Lord who came to save us, for 
all the love and goodness we have known, and for 
these Thy gifts to us this Christmas night, our 
Father, make us thankful. Amen.' 

‘Bon, dat's fuss rate,’ said Baptiste. ‘Seems 
lak dat’s make me hit (eat) more better for sure,’ 
and then no word was spoken for quarter of an 
hour. The occasion was far too solemn and mo- 
ments too precious for anything so empty as words. 
But when the white piles of bread and the brown 
piles of turkey had for a second time vanished, and 
after the last pie had disappeared, there came a 
pause and hush of expectancy, whereupon the cook 
and cookee, each bearing aloft a huge, blazing pud- 
ding, came forth. 

' Hooray I ’ yelled Blaney, ' up wid yez I ' and 


Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp 19 

grabbing the cook bv the shoulders from behind, he 
faced him about. 

Mr. Craig was the first to respond, and seizing 
the cookee in the same way, called out, ‘ Squad, fall 
in ! quick march ! ’ In a moment every man was 
in the procession. 

‘Strike up, Batchees, ye little angel I’ shouted 
Blaney, the appellation a concession to the minis- 
ter’s presence; and away went Baptiste in a rollick- 
ing French song with the English chorus — 


• Then blow, ye winds, in the morning, 
Blow, ye winds, ay oh ! 

Blow, ye winds, in the morning. 

Blow, blow, blow.’ 


And at each ‘ blow ' every boot came dov/n with 
a thump on the plank floor that shook the solid roof. 
After the second round, Mr. Craig jumped upon the 
bench, and called out — 

‘Three cheers for Billy the cook!' 

In the silence following the cheers Baptiste was 
heard to say, ‘Bon! dafs mak me feel lak hit dat 
puddin’ all hup mesef, me.’ 

‘Hear till the little baste! ' said Blaney in disgust. 
‘Batchees,’ remonstrated Sandy gravely, ‘ye've 
more stomach than manners.’ 


20 


Black Rock 


'Fu sure! but de more stomach dat's more better 
for dis puddin’,’ replied the little Frenchman cheer- 
fully. 

After a time the tables were cleared and pushed 
back to the wall, and pipes were produced. In all 
attitudes suggestive of comfort the men disposed 
themselves in a wide circle about the fire, which 
now roared and crackled up the great wooden 
chimney hanging from the roof. The lumberman's 
hour of bliss had arrived. Even old man Nelson 
looked a shade less melancholy than usual as he sat 
alone, well away from the fire, smoking steadily and 
silently. When the second pipes were well ago- 
ing, one of the men took down a violin from the 
wall and handed it to Lachlan Campbell. There 
were two brothers Campbell just out from Argyll, 
typical Highlanders : Lachlan, dark, silent, melan- 
choly, with the face of a mystic, and Angus, red- 
haired, quick, impulsive, and devoted to his brother, 
a devotion he thought proper to cover under biting, 
sarcastic speech. 

Lachlan, after much protestation, interspersed 
with gibes from his brother, took the violin, and, in 
response to the call from all sides, struck up ‘ Lord 
Macdonald's Reel.' In a moment the floor was 
filled with dancers, whooping and cracking their 


21 


Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp 

fingers in the wildest manner. Then Baptiste did 
the ‘Red River Jig/ a most intricate and difficult 
series of steps, the men keeping time to the music 
with hands and feet. 

When the jig was finished, Sandy called for 
‘Lochaber No More'; but Campbell said, ‘No, 
no! I cannot play that to-night. Mr. Craig will 
play.’ 

Craig took the violin, and at the first note I knew 
he was no ordinary player. 1 did not recognise the 
music, but it was soft and thrilling, and got in by 
the heart, till every one was thinking his tenderest 
and saddest thoughts. 

After he had played two or three exquisite bits, 
he gave Campbell his violin, saying, ‘Now, “ Loch- 
aber," Lachlan.' 

Without a word Lachlan began, not ‘Lochaber' 
— he was not ready for that yet — but ‘ The Flowers 
o’ the Forest,’ and from that wandered through 
‘Auld Robin Gray' and ‘The Land o’ the Leal,' 
and so got at last to that most soul-subduing of 
Scottish laments, ‘Lochaber No More.' At the 
first strain, his brother, who had thrown himself on 
some blankets behind the fire, turned over on his 
face, feigning sleep. Sandy M'Naughton took his 
pipe out of his mouth, and sat up straight and stiff. 


22 


Black Rock 


staring into vacancy, and Graeme, beyond the fire, 
drew a short, sharp breath. We had often sat, 
Graeme and I, in our student-days, in the drawing- 
room at home, listening to his father wailing out 
‘Lochaber’ upon the pipes, and I well knew that 
the awful minor strains were now eating their way 
into his soul. 

Over and over again the Highlander played his 
lament. He had long since forgotten us, and was 
seeing visions of the hills and lochs and glens of his 
far-away native land, and making us, too, see 
strange things out of the dim past. 1 glanced at 
old man Nelson, and was startled at the eager, 
almost piteous, look in his eyes, and I wished 
Campbell would stop. Mr. Craig caught my eye, 
and, stepping over to Campbell, held out his hand 
for the violin. Lingeringly and lovingly the High- 
lander drew out the last strain, and silently gave 
the minister his instrument. 

Without a moment’s pause, and while the spell 
of ‘ Lochaber ' was still upon us, the minister, with 
exquisite skill, fell into the refrain of that simple 
and beautiful camp-meeting hymn, * The Sweet By 
and By.' After playing the verse through once, he 
sang softly the refrain. After the first verse, the 
men joined in the chorus; at first timidly, but by 


Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp 23 

the time the third verse was reached they were 
shouting with throats full open, ‘We shall meet on 
that beautiful shore.’ When I looked at Nelson 
the eager light had gone out of his eyes, and in its 
place was a kind of determined hopelessness, as if 
in this new music he had no part. 

After the voices had ceased, Mr. Craig played 
again the refrain, more and more softly and 
slowly; then laying the violin on Campbell’s 
knees, he drew from his pocket his little Bible, 
and said — 

‘Men, with Mr. Graeme’s permission, 1 want to 
read you something this Christmas Eve. You will 
all have heard it before, but you will like it none the 
less for that.' 

His voice was soft, but clear and penetrating, as 
he read the eternal story of the angels and the 
shepherds and the Babe. And as he read, a slight 
motion of the hand or a glance of an eye made us 
see, as he was seeing, that whole radiant drama. 
The wonder, the timid joy, the tenderness, the 
mystery of it all, were borne in upon us with over- 
powering effect. He closed the book, and in the 
same low, clear voice went on to tell us how, in his 
home years ago, he used to stand on Christmas Eve 
listening in thrilling delight to his mother telling 


24 


Black Rock 


him the story, and how she used to make him see 
the shepherds and hear the sheep bleating near by, 
and how the sudden burst of glory used to make his 
heart jump. 

* I used to be a little afraid of the angels, because 
a boy told me they were ghosts; but my mother 
told me better, and 1 didn’t fear them any more. 
And the Baby, the dear little Baby — we all love a 
baby.’ There was a quick, dry sob; it was from 
Nelson. ‘ 1 used to peek through under to see the 
little one in the straw, and wonder what things 
swaddling clothes were. Oh, it was all so real and 
so beautiful! ' He paused, and I could hear the men 
breathing. 

‘But one Christmas Eve,' he went on, in a 
lower, sweeter tone, ‘ there was no one to tell me 
the story, and I grew to forget it, and went away 
to college, and learned to think that it was only a 
child’s tale and was not for men. Then bad days 
came to me and worse, and 1 began to lose my gri 
of myself, of life, of hope, of goodness, till orf 
black Christmas, in the slums of a far-away city, 
when 1 had given up all, and the devil’s arms were 
abvout me, 1 heard the story again. And as 1 
listened, with a bitter ache in my heart, for 1 had 
put it all behind me, I suddenly found myself peek- 


Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp 25 

ing under the shepherds' arms with a child’s 
wonder at the Baby in the straw. Then it came 
over me like great waves, that His name was Jesus, 
because it was He that should save men from their 
sins. Save! Save! The waves kept beating upon 
my ears, and before I knew, I had called out, “ OhI 
can He save me?" It was in a little mission meet- 
ing on one of the side streets, and they seemed to 
be used to that sort of thing there, for no one was 
surprised; and a young fellow leaned across the 
aisle to me and said, “Why! you just bet He can! " 
His surprise that I should doubt, his bright face and 
confident tone, gave me hope that perhaps it might 
be so. I held to that hope with all my soul, and ' — 
stretching up his arms, and with a quick glow in 
his face and a little break in his voice, ‘ He hasn’t 
failed me yet; not once, not once!’ 

He stopped quite short, and I felt a good deal 
like making a fool of myself, for in those days I 
had not made up my mind about these things. 
Graeme, poor old chap, was gazing at him with a 
sad yearning in his dark eyes; big Sandy was sit- 
ting very stiff, and staring harder than ever into the 
fire; Baptiste was trembling with excitement; 
Blaney was openly wiping the tears away. But 
the face that held my eyes was that of old man 


26 


Black Rock 


Nelson. It was white, tierce, hungry-Iooking, his 
sunken eyes burning, his lips parted as if to cry. 

The minister went on. * I didn’t mean to tell 
you this, men, it all came over me with a rush; but 
it is true, every word, and not a word will I take 
back. And, what’s more, I can tell you this, what 
He did for me He can do for any man, and it doesn’t 
make any difference what's behind him, and’ — 
leaning slightly forward, and with a little thrill of 
pathos vibrating in his voice — ‘ O boys, why don't 
you give Him a chance at you? Without Him 
you’ll never be the men you want to be, and you’ll 
never get the better of that that’s keeping some of 
you now from going back home. You know you’ll 
never go back till you’re the men you want to be." 
Then, lifting up his face and throwing back his head, 
he said, as if to himself, ‘Jesus! He shall save His 
people from their sins,’ and then, ‘Let us pray.’ 

Graeme leaned forward with his face in his 
hands; Baptiste and Blaney dropped on their knees; 
Sandy, the Campbells, and some others, stood up. 
Old man Nelson held his eyes steadily on the min- 
ister. 

Only once before had I seen that look on a hu- 
man face. A young fellow had broken through the 
ice on the river at home, and as the black water 


Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp 27 

was dragging his fingers one by one from the slip- 
pery edges, there came over his face that same look. 
I used to wake up for many a night after in a sweat 
of horror, seeing the white face with its parting 
lips, and its piteous, dumb appeal, and the black 
water slowly sucking it down. 

Nelson’s face brought it all back; but during the 
prayer the face changed, and seemed to settle into 
resolve of some sort, stern, almost gloomy, as of a 
man with his last chance before him. 

After the prayer Mr. Craig invited the men to a 
Christmas dinner next day in Black Rock. ‘ And 
because you are an independent lot, we’ll charge 
you half a dollar for dinner and the evening show.' 
Then leaving a bundle of magazines and illustrated 
papers on the table — a godsend to the men — he said 
good-bye and went out. 

I was to go with the minister, so I jumped into 
the sleigh first, and waited while he said good-bye 
to Graeme, who had been hard hit by the whole 
service, and seemed to want to say something. I 
heard Mr. Craig say cheerfully and confidently, ‘It’s 
a true bill: try Him.’ 

Sandy, who had been steadying Dandy while 
that interesting broncho was attempting with great 
success to balance himself on his hind legs, came to 


28 Black Rock 

say good-bye. ‘Come and see me first thing, 
Sandy.' 

‘Ay! I know; I'll see ye, Mr. Craig,' said Sandy, 
earnestly, as Dandy dashed off at a full gallop 
across the clearing and over the bridge, steadying 
down when he reached the hill. 

‘ Steady, you idiot! ' 

This was to Dandy, who had taken a sudden side 
spring into the deep snow, almost upsetting us. A 
man stepped out from the shadow. It was old 
man Nelson. He came straight to the sleigh, and, 
ignoring my presence completely, said — 

‘Mr. Craig, are you dead sure of this.? Will it 
work .? ' 

‘Do you mean,' said Craig, taking him up 
promptly, ‘can Jesus Christ save you from your 
sins and make a man of you ? ’ 

The old man nodded, keeping his hungry eyes on 
the other's face. 

‘Well, here's His message to you: “ The Son of 
Mara is come to seek and to save that which was 
lost.'" 

‘To me? To me ?’ said the old man, eagerly. 

‘Listen; this, too, is His word: “Him that 
cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out." That’s 
for you,' for here you are, coming.' 


Christmas Eve in a Lumber Camp 29 

‘ You don't know me, Mr. Craig. I left my 
baby fifteen years ago because ’ 

‘Stop I' said the minister. ‘Don’t tell me, at 
least not to-night; perhaps never. Tell Him who 
knows it all now, and who never betrays a secret. 
Have it out with Him. Don’t be afraid to trust 
Him.' 

Nelson looked at him, with his face quivering, 
and said in a husky voice, ‘ If this is no good, it’s 
hell for me.' 

‘If it is no good,' replied Craig, almost sternly, 
‘it’s nell for all of us.’ 

The old man straightened himself up, looked up 
at the stars, then back at Mr. Craig, then at me, and, 
drawing a deep breath said, ‘I’ll try Him.' As he 
was turning away the minister touched him on the 
arm, and said quietly, ‘ Keep an eye on Sandy to- 
morrow.' 

Nelson nodded, and we went on ; but before we 
took the next turn I looked back and saw what 
brought a lump into my throat. It was old man 
Nelson on his knees in the snow, with his hands 
spread upward to the stars, and I wondered if there 
was any One above the stars, and nearer than the 
stars, who could see. And then the trees hid him 
from my sight. 


The Black Rock Christmas 










CHAPTER II 

THE BLACK ROCK CHRISTMAS 

Many strange Christmas Days have I seen, but 
that wild Black Rock Christmas stands out strangest 
of all. While I was revelling in my delicious 
second morning sleep, just awake enough to enjoy 
it, Mr. Craig came abruptly, announcing breakfast 
and adding, * Hope you are in good shape, for we 
have our work before us this day.' 

‘Hello!’ 1 replied, still half asleep, and anxious 
to hide from the minister that 1 was trying to gain 
a few more moments of snoozing delight, ‘what’s 
abroad ? ’ 

‘The devil,' he answered shortly, and with such 
emphasis that 1 sat bolt upright, looking anxiously 
about. 

‘Oh I no need for alarm. He’s not after you 
particularly— at least not to-day,’ said Craig, with 
a shadow of a smile. ‘ But he is going about in 
good style, I can tell you.’ 

By this time I was quite awake. ‘ Well, what 
particular style does His Majesty affect this mom* 
ing?' 


34 


Black Rock 


He pulled out a showbill * Peculiarly gaudy 
and effective, is it not ? ' 

The items announced were sutficiently attractive. 
The ’Frisco Opera Company were to produce the 
‘screaming farce,' ‘The Gay and Giddy Dude’; 
after which there was to be a ‘Grand Ball,' during 
which the ‘Kalifornia Female Kickers ’ were to do 
some fancy figures; the whole to be followed by a 
‘big supper’ with ‘two free drinks to every man 
and one to the lady,’ and all for the insignificant 
sum of two dollars. 

‘ Can’t you go one better ? ’ 1 said. 

He looked inquiringly and a little disgustedly at 
me. 

‘ What can you do against free drinks and a 
dance, not to speak of the “High Kickers'”?’ he 
groaned. 

‘Nol’ ’<e continued; ‘it’s a clean beat for us 
to-day. The miners and lumbermen will have in 
their pockets ten thousand dollars, and every dollar 
burning a hole; and Slavin and his gang will get 
most of it. But,’ he added, ‘you must have 
breakfast. You’ll find a tub in the kitchen; don’t 
be afraid to splash. It is the best I have to offer 
you.' 

The tub sounded inviting, and before many min- 


The Black Rock Christmas 35 

ates had passed I was in a delightful glow, the effect 
of cold water and a rough towel, and that conscious- 
ness of virtue that comes to a man who has had 
courage to face his cold bath on a winter morning. 

The breakfast was laid with fine taste. A dimin- 
utive pine-tree, in a pot hung round with winter- 
green, stood in the centre of the table. 

‘Well, now, this looks good; porridge, beef- 
steak, potatoes, toast, and marmalade.’ 

‘ I hope you will enjoy it all.’ 

There was not much talk over our meal. Mr. 
Craig was evidently preoccupied, and as blue as his 
politeness would allow him. Slavin’s victory 
weighed upon his spirits. Finally he burst out, 
‘Look here! I can’t, I won’t stand it; something 
must be done. Last Christmas this towm was for 
two weeks, as one of the miners said, “ a little sub- 
urb of hell.” It was something too awful. And at 
the end of it all one young fellow was found dead 
in his shack, and twenty or more crawled back to 
the camps, leaving their three months’ pay with 
Slavin and his suckers. 

‘I won’t stand it, I say.* He turned fiercely on 
me. ‘ Whaf s to be done ? ’ 

This rather took me aback, for I had troubled my- 
self with nothing of this sort in my life before^ 


36 


Black Rock 


being fully occupied in keeping myself out of diffi- 
culty, and allowing others the same privilege. So 
I ventured the consolation that he had done his part, 
and that a spree more or less would not make much 
difference to these men. But the next moment I 
wished I had been slower in speech, for he swiftly 
faced me, and his words came like a torrent. 

. ‘God forgive you that heartless Word! Do you 
know — ? But no; you don’t know what you 
are saying. You don’t know that these men have 
been clambering for dear life out of a fearful pit 
for three months past, and doing good climbing 
too, poor chaps. You don’t think that some of 
them have wives, most of them mothers and sis- 
ters, in the east or across the sea, for whose sake 
they are slaving here; the miners hoping to save 
enough to bring their families to this homeless 
place, the rest to make enough to go back with 
credit. Why, there’s Nixon, miner, splendid chap; 
has been here for two years, and drawing the high- 
est pay. Twice he has been in sight of his heaven, 
for he can’t speak of his wife and babies without 
breaking up, and twice that slick son of the devil— 
that’s Scripture, mind you— Slavin, got him, and 
“rolled" him, as the boys say. He went back to 
the mines broken in body and in heart. He says 


The Black Rock Christmas 37 

this is his third and last chance. If Slavin gets him, 
his wife and babies will never see him on earth or 
in heaven. There is Sandy, too, and the rest. 
And/ he added, in a lower tone, and with the curi- 
ous little thrill of pathos in his voice, ‘this is the 
day the Saviour came to the world.' He paused, 
and then with a little sad smile, ‘ But 1 don’t want 
to abuse you.’ 

‘ Do, I enjoy it, I’m a beast, a selfish beast;’ for 
somehow his intense, blazing earnestness made me 
feel uncomfortably small. 

‘What have we to offer ?’ I demanded. 

‘ Wait till I have got these things cleared away, 
and my housekeeping done.’ 

I pressed my services upon him, somewhat 
feebly, I own, for I can’t bear dishwater; but he re- 
jected my offer. 

‘ I don’t like trusting my china to the hands of a 
tender-foot.’ 

‘ Quite right, though your china would prove an 
excellent means of defence at long range.’ It was 
delf, a quarter of an inch thick. So I smoked while 
he washed up, swept, dusted, and arranged the 
room. 

After the room was ordered to his taste, we pro- 
ceeded to hold council. He could offer dinner. 


38 


Black Rock 


magic lantern, music. ‘We can fill in time for 
two hours, but,’ he added gloomily, ‘we can't 
beat the dance and the “ High Kickers.” * 

‘ Have you nothing new or startling ?* 

He shook his head. 

‘No kind of show? Dog show? Snake 
charmer ? ’ 

‘Slavin has a monopoly of the snakes.’ 

Then he added hesitatingly, ‘ There was an old 
Punch-and-Judy chap here last year, but he died. 
Whisky again.’ 

‘ What happened to his show ?’ 

‘The Black Rock Hotel man took it for board 
and whisky bill. He has it still, 1 suppose.’ 

1 did not much relish the business; but 1 hated to 
see him beaten, so 1 ventured, ‘ 1 have run a Punch 
and Judy in an amateur way at the 'Varsity.' 

He sprang to his feet with a yell. 

‘You have! you mean to say it? We've got 
them! We’ve beaten them!' He had an extraor- 
dinary way of taking your help for granted. ‘ The 
miner chaps, mostly English and Welsh, went mad 
over the poor old showman, and made him so 
wealthy that in sheer gratitude he drank himself to 
death.' 

He walked up and down in high excitement and 


The Black Rock Christmas 39 

in such evident delight that I felt pledged to my 
best effort. 

‘Well/ 1 said, ‘first the poster. We must beat 
them in that.' 

He brought me large sheets of brown paper, and 
after two hours’ hard work 1 had half a dozen pic- 
torial showbills done in gorgeous colours and strik- 
ing designs. They were good, if 1 do say it myself. 

The turkey, the magic lantern, the Punch and 
Judy show were all there, the last with a crowd 
before it in gaping delight. A few explanatory 
words were thrown in, emphasising the highly art- 
istic nature of the Punch and Judy entertainment. 

Craig was delighted, and proceeded to perfect his 
plans. He had some half a dozen young men, four 
young ladies, and eight or ten matrons, upon whom 
he could depend for help. These he organised into 
a vigilance committee charged with the duty of 
preventing miners and lumbermen from getting 
away to Slavin’s. ‘The critical moments will be 
immediately before and after dinner, and then again 
after the show is over,' he explained. ‘The first 
two crises must be left to the care of Punch and 
Judy, and as for the last, 1 am not yet sure what 
shall be done;' but I saw he had something in his 
head, for he added, ‘ 1 shall see Mrs. Mavor.' 


40 


Black Rock 


'Who is Mrs. Mavor?’ 1 asked But he made 
no reply. He was a born fighter, and he put the 
fighting spirit into us all. We were bound to win. 

The sports were to begin at two o’clock. By 
lunch-time everything was in readiness. After 
lunch 1 was having a quiet smoke in Craig's shack 
when in he rushed, saying - 

'The battle will be lost before it is fought. If 
we lose Quatre Bras, we shall never get to Water- 
loo.’ 

'What’s up.?’ 

‘Slavin, just now. The miners are coming in, 
and he will have them in tow in half an hour.’ 

He looked at me appealingly. 1 knew what he 
wanted. 

'All right; 1 suppose 1 must, but it is an awful 
bore that a man can’t have a quiet smoke.’ 

'You’re not half a bad fellow,’ he replied, smil- 
ing. ‘1 shall get the ladies to furnish coffee inside 
the booth. You furnish them intellectual nourish- 
ment in front with dear old Punch and Judy.’ 

He sent a boy with a bell round the village an- 
nouncing, ' Punch and Judy in front of the Christ- 
mas booth beside the church ' ; and for three-quar- 
ters of an hour 1 shrieked and sweated in that awful 
little pen. But it was almost worth it to hear the 


The Black Rock Christmas 


4 * 


shouts of approval and laughter that greeted my 
performance. It was cold work standing about, so 
that the crowd was quite ready to respond when 
Punch, after being duly hanged, came forward and 
invited all into the booth for the hot coffee which 
judy had ordered. 

In they trooped, and Quatre Bras was won. 

No sooner were the miners safely engaged with 
their coffee than I heard a great noise of bells and 
of men shouting; and on reaching the street I saw 
that the men from the lumber camp were coming 
in. Two immense sleighs, decorated with ribbons 
and spruce boughs, each drawn by a four-horse 
team gaily adorned, filled with some fifty men, 
singing and shouting with all their might, were 
coming down the hill road at full gallop. Round 
the corner they swung, dashed at full speed across 
the bridge and down the street, and pulled up after 
they had made the circuit of a block, to the great 
admiration of the onlookers. Among others Slavin 
sauntered up good-naturedly, making himself agree- 
able to Sandy and those who were helping to un- 
hitch his team. 

‘ Oh, you need not take trouble with me or my 
team, Mike Slavin. Batchees and me and the boys 
can look after them fine,’ said Sandy coolly. 


42 


Black Rock 


This rejecting of hospitality was perfectly under- 
stood by Slavin and by all. 

‘Dat’s too bad, heh.?^’ said Baptiste wickedly; 
* and, Sandy, he’s got good money on his pocket 
for sure, too.’ The boys laughed, and Slavin, join- 
ing in, turned away with Keefe and Blaney ; but by 
the look in his eye 1 knew he was playing ‘ Br’er 
Rabbit,’ and lying low. 

Mr. Craig just then came up, * Hello, boys ! too 
late for Punch and Judy, but just in time for hot 
coffee and doughnuts.’ 

‘Bon; dat’s fuss rate,’ said Baptiste heartily; 
‘ where you keep him ? ’ 

‘Up in the tent next the church there. The 
miners are all in.’ 

‘Ah, dat so? Dat’s bad news for the shanty- 
men, heh, Sandy ? ’ said the little Frenchman dole- 
fully. 

‘There was a clothes-basket full of doughnuts 
and a boiler of coffee left as 1 passed just now,’ 
said Craig encouragingly. 

‘Allons, mes gar^ons; vite! never say keel!' 
cried Baptiste excitedly, stripping off the harness. 

But Sandy would not leave the horses till they 
were carefully rubbed down, blanketed, and fed, 
for he was entered for the four-horse race and it 


The Black Rock Christmas 43 

behoved him to do his best to win. Besides, he 
scorned to hurry himself for anything so unimpor- 
tant as eating ; that he considered hardly worthy 
even of Baptiste. Mr. Craig managed to get a 
word with him before he went off, and I saw 
Sandy solemnly and emphatically shake his head, 
saying, ‘Ah! we’ll beat him this day,’ and I 
gathered that he was added to the vigilance com- 
mittee. 

Old man Nelson was busy with his own team. 
He turned slowly at Mr. Craig’s greeting, ‘ How is 
it. Nelson ?’ and it was with a very grave voice he 
answered, ‘I hardly know, sir; but 1 am not gone 
yet, though it seems little to hold to.’ 

‘All you want for a grip is what your hand can 
cover. What would you have? And besides, do 
you know why you are not gone yet ? ’ 

The old man waited, looking at the minister 
gravely. 

‘ Because He hasn’t let go His grip of you. 

‘ How do you know He’s gripped me?' 

‘Now, look here. Nelson, do you want to quit 
this thing and give it all up ? ’ 

‘No, no! For Heaven’s sake, no! Why, do you 
think 1 have lost it?’ said Nelson, almost piteously. 

‘Well, He’s keener about it than you; and I’ll 


44 Black Rock 

bet you haven't thought it worth while to thank 
Him.’ 

‘To thank Him,' he repeated, almost stupidly, 
‘for ’ 

‘For keeping you where you are overnight,’ said 
Mr. Craig, almost sternly. 

The old man gazed at the minister, a light grow- 
ing in his eyes. 

‘You’re right. Thank God, you’re right.’ And 
then he turned quickly away, and went into the 
stable behind his team. It was a minute before he 
came out. Over his face there was a trembling 
joy. 

‘Can I do anything for you to-day?’ he asked 
humbly. 

‘Indeed you just can,’ said the minister, taking 
his hand and shaking it very warmly; and then he 
told him Slavin’s programme and ours. 

‘ Sandy is all right till after his race. After that 
is his time of danger,’ said the minister. 

‘I’ll stay with him, sir,’ said old Nelson, in the 
tone of a man taking a covenant, and immediately 
set off for the cotTee-tent. 

‘Here comes another recruit for your corps,’ I 
said, pointing to Leslie Graeme, who was coming 
down the street at that moment in his light sleigh. 


The Black Rock Christmas 45 

‘ I am not so sure. Do you think you could get 
him?’ 

I laughed. ‘ You are a good one.’ 

‘Well,’ he replied, half defiantly, ‘is not this 
your fight too ? ’ 

‘You make me think so, though I am bound to 
say I hardly recognise myself to-day. But here 
goes,’ and before 1 knew it 1 was describing our 
plans to Graeme, growing more and more enthusi- 
astic as he sat in his sleigh, listening with a quiz- 
zical smile I didn't quite like. 

‘He’s got you too,’ he said; ‘ I feared so.’ 

‘Well,’ I laughed, ‘perhaps so. But I want to 
lick that man Slavin. I’ve just seen him, and he’s 
just what Craig calls him, “a slick son of the devil.” 
Don’t be shocked; he says it is Scripture.’ 

‘Revised version,’ said Graeme gravely, while 
Craig looked a little abashed. 

‘What is assigned me, Mr. Craig? for 1 know 
that this man is simply your agent’ 

1 repudiated the idea, while Mr. Craig said 
nothing. 

‘ What’s my part ? ’ demanded Graeme. 

‘Well,’ said Mr. Craig hesitatingly, ‘of course I 
would do nothing till I had consulted you; but I want 
a man to take my place at the sports. 1 am referee/ 


46 


Black Rock 


‘That’s all right/ said Graeme, with an air of 
relief; ‘I expected something hard/ 

‘ And then I thought you would not mind pre- 
siding at dinner — I want it to go off well/ 

‘Did you notice that?’ said Graeme to me. 
‘ Not a bad touch, eh ? ’ 

‘That’s nothing to the way he touched me. 
Wait and learn,’ 1 answered, while Craig looked 
quite distressed. ‘ He’ll do it, Mr. Craig, never 
fear,’ I said, ‘and any other little duty that may 
occur to you.’ 

‘ Now that’s too bad of you. That is all I want, 
honour bright,’ he replied; adding, as he turned 
away, ‘you are just in time for a cup of coffee, Mr. 
Graeme. Now I must see Mrs. Mavor.’ 

‘Who is Mrs. Mavor ?’ 1 demanded of Graeme. 

‘Mrs. Mavor? The miners’ guardian angel.’ 

We put up the horses and set off for coffee. As 
we approached the booth Graeme caught sight of 
the Punch and Judy show, stood still in amaze- 
ment, and exclaimed, ‘Can the dead live ?’ 

‘Punch and Judy never die,’ I replied solemnly. 

‘ But the old manipulator is dead enough, poor 
old beggar! ’ 

‘ But he left his mantle, as you see.’ 

He looked at me a moment. 


The Black Rock Christmas 47 

‘What! do you mean, you ?’ 

‘ Yes, that is exactly what I do mean/ 

‘ He is a great man, that Craig fellow— a truly 
great man/ 

And then he leaned up against a tree and laughed 
till the tears came. ‘I say, old boy, don’t mind 
me,’ he gasped, ‘but do you remember the old 
’Varsity show ? ’ 

‘Yes, you villain; and I remember your part in 
it, 1 wonder how you can, even at this remote 
date, laugh at it.’ For 1 had a vivid recollection of 
how after a ‘ chaste and highly artistic performance 
of this mediaeval play ’ had been given before a 
distinguished Toronto audience, the trapdoor by 
which I had entered my box was fastened, and I 
was left to swelter in my cage, and forced to listen 
to the suffocated laughter from the wings and the 
stage whispers of ‘ Hello, Mr. Punch, where’s the 
baby And for many a day after I was subjected 
to anxious inquiries as to the locality and health of 
‘the baby,' and whether it was able to be out. 

‘Oh, the dear old days!' he kept saying, over 
and over, in a tone so full of sadness that my heart 
grew sore for him and I forgave him, as many a 
time before. 

The sports passed off in typical Western style. 


48 


Black Rock 


In addition to the usual running and leaping con- 
tests, there was rifle and pistol shooting, in both of 
which old Nelson stood first, with Shaw, foreman 
of the mines, second. 

The great event of the day, however, was to be 
the four-horse race, for which three teams were en- 
tered — one from the mines driven by Nixon, Craig’s 
friend, a citizens’ team, and Sandy’s. The race 
was really between the miners’ team, and that from 
the woods, for the citizens’ team, though made up 
of speedy horses, had not been driven much to- 
gether, and knew neither their driver nor each 
other. In the miners’ team were four bays, very 
powerful, a trifle heavy perhaps, but Well matched, 
perfectly trained, and perfectly handled by theif 
driver. Sandy had his long rangy roans, and for 
leaders a pair of half-broken pinto bronchos. The 
pintos, caught the summer before upon the Alberta 
prairies, were fleet as deer, but wicked and uncer- 
tain. They were Baptiste’s special care and pride. 
If they would only run straight there was little 
doubt that they would carry the roans and them- 
selves to glory; but one could not tell the moment 
they might bolt or kick things to pieces. 

Being the only non-partisan in the crowd I was 
asked to referee. The race was about half a mile 


The Black Rock Christmas 


49 


and return, the first and last quarters being upon 
the ice. The course, after leaving the ice, led up 
from the river by a long easy slope to the level 
above; and at the further end curved somewhat 
sharply round the Old Fort. The only condition at- 
taching to the race was that the teams should start 
from the scratch, make the turn of the Fort, and 
finish at the scratch. There were no vexing regu- 
lations as to fouls. The man making the foul 
would find it necessary to reckon with the crowd, 
which was considered suificient guarantee for a fair 
and square race. Owing to the hazards of the 
course, the result would depend upon the skill of 
drivers quite as much as upon the speed of the 
teams. The points of hazard were at the turn 
round the Old Fort, and at a little ravine which led 
down to the river, over which the road passed by 
means of a long log bridge or causeway. 

From a point upon the high bank of the river the 
whole course lay in open view. It was a scene full 
of life and vividly picturesque. There were miners 
in dark clothes and peak caps; citizens in ordinary 
garb; ranchmen in wide cowboy hats and buckskin 
shirts and leggings, some with cartridge-belts and 
pistols; a few half-breeds and Indians in half-na- 
tive, half-civilised dress; and scattering through the 


Black Rock 


50 

crowd the lumbermen with gay scarlet and blue 
blanket coats, and some with knitted tuques of the 
same colours. A very good-natured but extremely 
uncertain crowd it was. At the head of each horse 
stood a man, but at the pintos’ heads Baptiste stood 
alone, trying to hold down the off leader, thrown 
into a frenzy of fear by the yelling of the crowd. 

Gradually all became quiet, till, in the midst of 
absolute stillness, came the words, ‘ Are you 
ready ? ' then the pistol-shot and the great race had 
begun. Above the roar of the crowd came the 
shrill cry of Baptiste, as he struck his broncho with 
the palm of his hand, and swung himself into the 
sleigh beside Sandy, as it shot past. 

Like a flash the bronchos sprang to the front, two 
lengths before the other teams; but, terrified by the 
yelling of the crowd, instead of bending to the left 
bank up which the road wound, they wheeled to 
the right and were almost across the river before 
Sandy could swing them back into the course. 

Baptiste’s cries, a curious mixture of French and 
English, continued to strike through all other sounds 
till they gained the top of the slope to find the 
others almost a hundred yards in front, the citizens* 
team leading, with the miners’ following close. 
The moment the pintos caught sight of the teams 


The Black Rock Christmas 51 

before them they set off at a terrific pace and stead* 
ily devoured the intervening space. Nearer and 
nearer the turn came, the eight horses in front, run* 
ning straight and well within their speed. After 
them flew the pintos, running savagely with ears 
set back, leading well the big roans, thundering 
along and gaining at every bound. And now the 
citizens’ team had almost reached the Fort, running 
hard, and drawing away from the bays. But Nixon 
knew what he was about, and was simply steady- 
ing his team for the turn. The event proved his 
wisdom, for in the turn the leading team left the 
track, lost a moment or two in the deep snow, and 
before they could regain the road the bays had 
swept superbly past, leaving their rivals to follow 
in the rear. On came the pintos, swiftly nearing 
the Fort. Surely ^t that pace they cannot make the 
turn. But Sandy knows his leaders. They have 
their eyes upon the teams in front, and need no 
touch of rein. Without the slightest change in 
speed the nimble-footed bronchos round the turn, 
hauling the big roans after them, and fall in behind 
the citizens' team, which is regaining steadily the 
ground lost in the turn. 

And now the struggle is for the bridge over the 
ravine. The bays in front, running with mouths 


Black Rock 


sa 

wide open, are evidently doing their best; behind 
them, and every moment nearing them, but at the 
limit of their speed too, come the lighter and fleeter 
citizens' team; while opposite their driver are the 
pintos, pulling hard, eager and fresh. Their temper 
is too uncertain to send them to the fro: t; they run 
well following, but when leading cannot be trusted, 
and besides, a broncho hates a bridge; so Sandy 
holds them where they are, waiting and hoping for 
his chance after the bridge is crossed. Foot by 
foot the citizens’ team creep up upon the flank of 
the bays, with the pintos in turn hugging them 
closely, till it seems as if the three, if none slackens, 
must strike the bridge together; and this will mean 
destruction to one at least. This danger Sandy per- 
ceives, but he dare not check his leaders. Sud- 
denly, within a few yards of the bridge, Baptiste 
throws himself upon the lines, wrenches them out 
of Sandy’s hands, and, with a quick swing, faces 
the pintos down the steep side of the ravine, which 
is almost sheer ice with a thin coat of snow. It is 
a daring course to take, for the ravine, though not 
deep, is full of undergrowth, and is partially closed 
up by a brush heap at the further end. But, with a 
yell, Baptiste hurls his four horses down the slope, 
and into the undergrowth. *Allons, mes enfants! 


The Black Rock Christmas 53 

Courage! vite, vitel’ cries their driver, and nobly 
do the pintos respond. Regardless of bushes and 
brush heaps, they tear their way through ; but, as 
they emerge, the hind bob-sleigh catches a root, 
and, with a crash, the sleigh is hurled high in the 
air. Baptiste's cries ring out high and shrill as ever, 
encouraging his team, and never cease till, with a 
plunge and a scramble, they clear the brush heap 
lying at the mouth of the ravine, and are out on the 
ice on the river, with Baptiste standing on the front 
bob, the box trailing behind, and Sandy nowhere 
to be seen. 

Three hundred yards of the course remain. The 
bays, perfectly handled, have gained at the bridge 
and in the descent to the ice, and are leading the 
citizens' team by half a dozen sleigh lengths. Be- 
hind both comes Baptiste. It is now or never for 
the pintos. The rattle of the trailing box, together 
with the wild yelling of the crowd rushing down 
the bank, excites the bronchos to madness, and, 
taking the bits in their teeth, they do their first free 
running that day. Past the citizens' team like a 
whirlwind they dash, clear the intervening space, 
and gain the flanks of the bays. Can the bays hold 
them? Over them leans their driver, plying for 
the first time the hissing lash. Only fifty yards 


54 


Black Rock 


more. The miners begin to yell. But Baptiste, 
waving his lines high in one hand, seizes his tuque 
with the other, whirls it about his head and flings it 
with a fiercer yell than ever at the bronchos. Like 
the bursting of a hurricane the pintos leap forward, 
and with a splendid rush cross the scratch, winners 
by their own length. 

There was a wild quarter of an hour. The shan- 
tymen had torn off their coats and were waving 
them wildly and tossing them high, while the 
ranchers added to the uproar by emptying their 
revolvers into the air in a way that made one 
nervous. 

When the crowd was somewhat quieted Sandy’s 
stiff figure appeared, slowly making toward them. 
A dozen lumbermen ran to him, eagerly inquiring 
if he were hurt. But Sandy could only curse the 
little Frenchman for losing the race. 

‘Lost! Why, man, we’ve won it!’ shouted a 
voice, at which Sandy’s rage vanished, and he al- 
lowed himself to be carried in upon the shoulders 
of his admirers. 

‘ Where’s the lad ?’ was his first question. 

‘ The bronchos are off with him. He’s down at 
the rapids like enough.’ 

‘Let me go,’ shouted Sandy, setting off at a run 


CHAPTER III 


WATERLOO. OUR FIGHT — HIS VICTORY 

The sports were over, and there remained still an 
hour to be filled in before dinner. It was an hour 
full of danger to Craig’s hopes of victory, for the 
men were wild with excitement, and ready for the 
most reckless means of * slinging their dust/ i 
could not but admire the skill with which Mr. Craig 
caught their attention. 

‘Gentlemen,* he called out, ‘we’ve forgotten 
the judge of the great race. Three cheers for Mr. 
Connor! ’ 

Two of the shantymen picked me up and hoisted 
me on their shoulders while the cheers were given. 

‘Announce the Punch and Judy,’ he entreated 
me, in a low voice. I did so in a little speech, and 
was forthwith borne aloft, through the street to the 
booth, followed by the whole crowd, cheering like 
mad. 

The excitement of the crowd caught me, and for 
an hour I squeaked and worked the wires of the im- 
mortal and unhappy family in a manner hitherto 


6o 


Black Rock 


unapproached by me at least. I was glad enough 
when Graeme came to tell me to send the men in to 
dinner. This Mr. Punch did in the most gracious 
manner, and again with cheers for Punch’s master 
they trooped tumultuously into the tent. 

We had only well begun when Baptiste came in 
quietly but hurriedly and whispered to me — 

‘ M’sieu Craig, he’s gone to Slavin’s, and would 
lak you and M’sieu Graeme would follow queek. 
Sandy he’s take one leel drink up at de stable, and 
he’s go mad lak one diable.' 

I sent him for Graeme, who was presiding at 
dinner, and set off for Slavin’s at a run. There 1 
found Mr. Craig and Nelson holding Sandy, more 
than half drunk, back from Slavin, who, stripped 
to the shirt, was coolly waiting with a taunting 
smile. 

‘ Let me go, Mr. Craig,’ Sandy was saying, * I 
am a good Presbyterian. He is a Papist thief ; and 
he has my money ; and 1 will have it out of the soul 
of him.’ 

‘Let hirn go, preacher,’ sneered Slavin, ‘I’ll cool 
him off for yez. But ye’d better hold him if yez 
wants his mug left on to him.’ 

‘ Let him go! ' Keefe was shouting. 

‘ Hands off! ’ Blaney was echoing. 


Waterloo. Our Fight — His Victory 6i 

I pushed my way in. ‘ What’s up ?' I cried. 

‘Mr. Connor/ said Sandy solemnly, ‘it is a 
gentleman you are, though your name is against 
you, and I am a good Presbyterian, and I can give 
you the Commandments and Reasons annexed to 
them; but yon’s a thief, a Papist thief, and I am 
justified in getting my money out of his soul.’ 

But,’ I remonstrated, ‘you won’t get it in this 
way.' 

‘ He has my money,’ reiterated Sandy. 

‘ He is a blank liar, and he’s afraid to take it up,' 
said Slavin, in a low, cool tone. 

With a roar Sandy broke away and rushed at 
him; but, without moving from his tracks, Slavin 
met him with a straight left-hander and laid him flat. 

‘ Hooray,’ yelled Blaney, ‘ Ireland forever! ' 
and, seizing the iron poker, swung it around his 
head, crying, ‘ Back, cr, by the holy Moses, I’ll 
kill the first ma^ that interferes wid the game.’ 

‘ Give it to him ! ’ Keefe said savagely. 

Sandy rose slowly, gazing round stupidly. 

‘ He don’t know what hit him,' laughed Keefe. 

This roused the Highlander, and saying, ‘I’ll 
settle you afterward, Mister Keefe,' he rushed in 
again at Slavin. Again Slavin met him again with 
his left, staggered him, and, before he fell, took 


62 


Black Rock 


a step forward and delivered a terrific right-hand 
blow on his jaw. Poor Sandy went down in a 
heap amid the yells of Blaney, Keefe, and some 
others of the gang. I was in despair when in came 
Baptiste and Graeme. 

One look at Sandy, and Baptiste tore off his coat 
and cap, slammed them on the floor, danced orr 
them, and with a long-drawn ‘ sap-r -r-r-rie,' 
rushed at Slavin. But Graeme caught him by the 
back of the neck, saying, ‘ Hold on, little man,* 
and turning to Slavin, pointed to Sandy, who was 
reviving under Nelson’s care, and said, ‘Whafs 
this for ?' 

‘ Ask him,’ said Slavin insolently. ‘ He knows.’ 

‘ What is it, Nelson ? ’ 

Nelson explained that Sandy, after drinking some 
at the stable and a glass at the Black Rock Hotel, 
had come down here with Keefe and the others, 
had lost his money, and was accusing Slavin of 
robbing him. 

‘Did you furnish him with liquor?’ said Graeme 
sternly. 

Mt is none of your business,’ replied Slavin, with 
an oath. 

‘ I shall make it my business. It is not the first 
time my men have lost money in this saloon.* 


Waterloo. Our Fight — His Victory 63 

‘You lie/ said Slavin, with deliberate emphasis. 

‘Slavin/ said Graeme quietly, Mt’s a pity you 
said that, because, unless you apologise in one 
minute, 1 shall make you sorry.' 

‘ Apologise ? ’ roared Slavin, ‘ apologise to you ? ' 
calling him a vile name. 

Graeme grew white, and said even more slowly, 
‘ Now you’ll have to take it; no apology will do.' 

He slowly stripped off coat and vest. Mr. Craig 
interposed, begging Graeme to let the matter pass. 
‘Surely he is not worth it.’ 

‘Mr. Craig,' said Graeme, with an easy smile, 

‘ you don't understand. No man can call me that 
name and walk around afterward feeling well.’ 

Then, turning to Slavin, he said, ‘ Now, if you 
want a minute’s rest, 1 can wait.' 

Slavin, with a curse, bade him come. 

‘Blaney,’ said Graeme sharply, ‘you get back.' 
Blaney promptly stepped back to Keefe's side. 
‘Nelson, you and Baptiste can see that they stay 
there.’ The old man nodded and looked at Craig, 
W'ho simply said, ‘ Do the .best you can.’ 

It was a good fight. Slavin had plenty of pluck, 
and for a time forced the fighting, Graeme guarding 
easily and tapping him aggravatingly about the nose 
and eyes, drawing blood, but not disabling him. 


64 


Black Rock 


Gradually there came a look of fear into Slavin’s 
eyes, and the beads stood upon his face. He had 
met his master. 

‘Now, Slavin, you’re beginning to be sorry; and 
now 1 am going to show you what you are made 
of.’ Graeme made one or two lightning passes, 
struck Slavin one, two, three terrific blows, and laid 
him quite flat and senseless. Keefe and Blaney both 
sprang forward, but there was a savage kind of 
growl. 

‘Hold, there!’ It was old man Nelson looking 
along a pistol barrel. ‘You know me, Keefe,’ he 
said. ‘ You won’t do any murder this time.’ 

Keefe turned green and yellow, and staggered 
back, while Slavin slowly rose to his feet. 

‘Will you take some more.?’ said Graeme. 
‘You haven’t got much; but mind 1 have stopped 
playing with you. Put up your gun. Nelson. No 
one will interfere now.’ 

Slavin hesitated, then rushed, but Graeme stepped 
to meet him, and we saw Slavin’s heels in the air as 
he fell back upon his neck and shoulders and lay 
still, with his toes quivering. 

‘ Bon ! ’ yelled Baptiste. ‘ Bully boy ! Daf s de 
bon stuff. Dafs larn him one good lesson.’ But 
immediately he shrieked, ‘ Gar-r-r-r-e a vousl' 


Waterloo. Our Fight — His Victory 65 

He was too late, for there was a crash of breaking 
glass, and Graeme fell to the floor with a long deep 
cut on the side of his head. Keefe had hurled a bot- 
tle with all too sure an aim, and had fled. I thought 
he was dead; but we carried him out, and in a few 
minutes he groaned, opened his eyes, and sank 
again into insensibility. 

* Where can we take him ?’ 1 cried. 

‘To my shack,' said Mr. Craig. 

‘ Is there no place nearer ? ’ 

‘Yes; Mrs. Mayor’s. 1 shall run on to tell her.’ 

She met us at the door. I had in mind to say 
some words of apology, but when I looked upon 
her face I forgot my words, forgot my business at 
her door, and stood simply looking. 

‘Come in! Bring him in! Please do not wait,’ 
she said, and her voice was sweet and soft and 
firm. 

We laid him in a large room at the back of the 
shop over which Mrs. Mavor lived. Together we 
dressed the wound, her firm white fingers, skillful 
as if with long training. Before the dressing was 
finished I sent Craig off, for the time had come for 
the Magic Lantern in the church, and I knew how 
critical the moment was in our fight. ‘Go,’ I said; 
‘he is coming to, and wa do not need you.’ 


66 


Black Rock 


In a few moments more Graeme revived, and, 
gazing about, asked, ‘What's all this about?' and 
then, recollecting, ‘Ah! that brute Keefe;' then seeing 
my anxious face he said carelessly, ‘Awful bore, 
ain't it? Sorry to trouble you, old fellow.’ 

‘You be hanged!’ I said shortly; for his old 
sweet smile was playing about his lips, and 
was almost too much for me. ‘ Mrs. Mavor and 
I are in command, and you must keep perfectly 
still.' 

‘Mrs. Mavor .^' he said, in surprise. She came 
forward, with a slight flush on her face. 

‘I think you know me, Mr. Graeme.’ 

‘I have often seen you, and wished to know 
you. I am sorry to bring you this trouble.’ 

‘You must not say so,’ she replied, ‘but let me 
do all for you that I can. And now the doctor 
says you are to lie still.’ 

‘The doctor? Oh! you mean Connor. He is 
hardly there yet. You don’t know each other. 
Permit me to present Mr. Connor, Mrs. Mavor.’ 

As she bowed slightly, her eyes looked into mine 
with serious gaze, not inquiring, yet searching my 
soul. As I looked into her eyes I forgot everything 
about me, and when I recalled myself it seemed as 
if I bad been away in some far place. It was not 


W aterloo. Our Fight — His Victory 67 

their colour or their brightness; I do not yet know 
their colour, and I have often looked into them; and 
they were not bright; but they were clear, and one 
could look far down into them, and in their depths 
see a glowing, steady light. As I went to get some 
drugs from the Black Rock doctor, 1 found myself 
wondering about that far-down light; and about 
her voice, how it could get that sound from far 
away. 

I found the doctor quite drunk, as indeed Mr. 
Craig had warned; but his drugs were good, and I 
got what I wanted and quickly returned. 

While Graeme slept Mrs. Mavor made me tea. 
As the evening wore on 1 told her the events of the- 
day, dwelling admiringly upon Craig’s generalship. 
She smiled at this. 

'He got me too,’ she said. ‘Nixon was sent 
to me just before the sports; and 1 don’t think he 
will break down to-day, and 1 am so thankful.'' 
And her eyes glowed. 

‘I am quite sure he won’t,’ I thought to myselC 
but 1 said no word. 

After a long pause, she went on, ‘1 have prom- 
ised Mr. Craig to sing to-night, if 1 am needed 
and then, after a moment’s hesitation, ‘It is two 
years since I have been able to sing— two years/ 


Black Rock 


she repeated, ‘since —and then her brave voice 
trembled — ‘ my husband was killed.’ 

‘I quite understand,' I said, having no other 
word on my tongue. 

‘And,’ she went on quietly, ‘I fear I have been 
selfish. It is hard to sing the same songs. We 
were very happy. But the miners like to hear me 
sing, and I think perhaps it helps them to feel less 
lonely, and keeps them from evil. I shall try to- 
night, if I am needed. Mr. Craig will not ask me 
unless he must.’ 

I would have seen every miner and lumberman 
in the place hideously drunk before I would have 
asked her to sing one song while her heart ached. 
I wondered at Craig, and said, rather angrily — 

‘ He thinks only of those wretched miners and 
shanty men of his.’ 

She looked at me with wonder in her eyes, and 
said gently, ‘ And are they not Christ’s too ?' 

And I found no word to reply. 

It was nearing ten o’clock, and I was wonder- 
ing how the fight was going, and hoping that 
Mrs. Mavor would not be needed, when the door 
opened, and old man Nelson and Sandy, the latter 
much battered and ashamed, came in with the 
word for Mrs. Mavor. 


Waterloo. Our Fight — His Victory 69 

M will come,' she said simply. She saw me 
preparing to accompany her, and asked, ‘Do you 
think you can leave him ?’ 

‘ He will do quite well in Nelson's care.’ 

‘Then I am glad; for I must take my little one 
with me. I did not put her to bed in case I should 
need to go, and I may not leave her.’ 

We entered the church by the back door, and 
saw at once that even yet the battle might easily 
be lost. 

Some miners had just come from Slavin’s, evi- 
dently bent on breaking up the meeting, in revenge 
for the collapse of the dance, which Slavin was un- 
able to enjoy, much less direct. Craig was gal- 
lantly holding his ground, finding it hard work to 
keep his men in good humour, and so prevent a 
fight, for there were cries of ‘Put him out! Put 
the beast out! 'at a miner half drunk and wholly 
outrageous. 

The look of relief that came over his face when 
Craig caught sight of us told how anxious he had 
been, and reconciled me to Mrs. Mavor’s singing. 
‘Thank the good God,’ he said, v/ith what came 
near being a sob, ‘ I was about to despair.' 

He immediately walked to the front and called 
out — 


70 Black Rock 

'Gentlemen, if you wish it, Mrs. Mavor will 
sing.’ 

There was a dead silence. Some one began to 
applaud, but a miner said savagely, 'Stop that, 
you fool!’ 

There was a few moments’ delay, when from 
the crowd a voice called out, 'Does Mrs. Mavor 
wish to sing?’ followed by cries of 'Ay, that’s 
it.’ Then Shaw, the foreman at the mines, stood 
up in the audience and said — 

‘ Mr. Craig and gentlemen, you know that three 
years ago I was known as " Old Ricketts,” and that 
1 owe all 1 am to-night, under God, to Mrs. Mavor^, 
and ’ — and with a little quiver in his voice — ' her 
baby. And we all know that for two years she has 
not sung; and we all know why. And what I say 
is, that if she does not feel like singing to-night, she 
is not going to sing to keep any drunken brute of 
Slavin’s crowd quiet.’ 

There were deep growls of approval all over the 
church. 1 could have hugged Shaw then and there. 
Mr. Craig went to Mrs. Mavor, and after a word 
with her came back and said — 

'Mrs. Mavor wishes me to rnank her dear 
friend Mr. Shaw, but says she would like to 
sing.’ 


Waterloo. Our Fight — His Victory 71 

The response was perfect stillness. Mr. Craig 
sat down to the organ and played the opening 
bars of the touching melody, ‘Oft in the Stilly 
Night/ Mrs. Mavor came to the front, and, with 
a smile of exquisite sweetness upon her sad face, 
and looking straight at us with her glorious eyes, 
began to sing. 

Her voice, a rich soprano, even and true, rose and 
fell, now soft, now strong, but always filling the 
building, pouring around us floods of music. I had 
heard Patti’s ‘Home, sweet Home,’ and of all sing- 
ing that alone affected me as did this. 

At the end of the first verse the few women in the 
church and some men were weeping quietly; but 
when she began the words — 

* When I remember all 
The friends once linked together,* 

sobs came on every side from these tender-hearted 
fellows, and Shaw quite lost his grip. But she sang 
steadily on, the tone clearer and sweeter and fuller 
at every note, and when the sound of her voice died 
away, she stood looking at the men as if in wonder 
that they should weep. No one moved. Mr. Craig 
played softly on, and, wandering through many 
variations, arrived at last at 

* Jesus, lover of my soul.’ 


72 


Black Rock 


As she sang the appealing words, her face was 
lifted up, and she saw none of us; but she must 
have seen some one, for the cry in her voice could 
only come from one who could see and feel help 
close at hand. On and on went the glorious voice, 
searching my soul’s depths; but when she came to 
the words — 

‘ Thou, O Christ, art all I want,’ 

she Stretched up her arms — she had quite for- 
gotten us, her voice had borne her to other worlds 
— and sang with such a passion of abandon that 
my soul was ready to surrender anything, every- 
thing. 

Again Mr. Craig wandered on through his chang- 
ing chords till again he came to familiar ground, and 
the voice began, in low, thrilling tones, Bernard’s 
great song of home — 

* Jerusalem the golden.’ 

Every word, with all its weight of meaning, came 
winging to our souls, till we found ourselves gazing 
afar into those stately halls of Zion, with their day- 
light serene and their jubilant throngs. When the 
singer came to the last verse there was a pause. 
Again Mr. Craig softly played the interlude, but still 
there was no voice. I looked up. She was very 


Waterloo. Our Fight — His Victory 73 

white, and her eyes were glowing with their deep 
light. Mr. Craig looked quickly about, saw her, 
stopped, and half rose, as if to go to her, when, in 
a voice that seemed to come from a far-off land, she 
went on — 


‘O sweet and blessed country f' 

The longing, the yearning, in the second ‘ O ’ 
were indescribable. Again and again, as she held 
that word, and then dropped down with the 
cadence in the music, my heart ached for I knew 
not what. 

The audience were sitting as in a trance. The 
grimy faces of the miners, for they never get quite 
white, were furrowed with the tear-courses. Shaw, 
by this time, had his face too lifted high, his eyes 
gazing far above the singer’s head, and I knew by 
the rapture in his face that he was seeing, as she 
saw, the thronging stately halls and the white- 
robed conquerors. He had felt, and was still feel- 
ing, all the stress of the fightj and to him the vision 
of the conquerors in their glory was soul-drawing 
and soul-stirring. And Nixon, too— he had his 
vision ; but what he saw was the face of the singer, 
with the shining eyes, and, by the look of him, that 
was vision enough. 


74 


Black Rock 


Immediately after her last note Mrs. Mavor 
stretched out her hands to her little girl, who was 
sitting on my knee, caught her up, and, holding her 
close to her breast, walked quickly behind the cur- 
tain. Not a sound followed the singing : no one 
moved till she had disappeared; and then Mr. Craig 
came to the front, and, motioning to me to follow 
Mrs. Mavor, began in a low, distinct voice — 

'Gentlemen, it was not easy for Mrs. Mavor to 
sing for .us, and you know she sang because she is 
a miner's wife, and her heart is with the miners. 
But she sang, too, because her heart is His who 
came to earth this day so many years ago to save us 
all; and she would make you love Him too. For 
in loving Him you are saved from all base loves, and 
you know what 1 mean. 

‘ And before we say good-night, men, I want to 
know if the time is not come when all of you who 
mean to be better than you are should join in put- 
ting from us this thing that has brought sorrow and 
shame to us and to those we love? You know 
what I mean. Some of you are strong; will you 
stand by and see weaker men robbed of the money 
they save for those far away, and robbed of the 
manhood that no money can buy or restore ? 

' Will the strong men help ? Shall we all join 


Waterloo. Our Fight — His Victory 75 

hands in this ? What do you say ? In this town 
we have often seen hell, and just a moment ago we 
were all looking into heaven, “ the sweet and blessed 
country.” O men ! ' and his voice rang in an agony 
through the building — ‘O men! which shall be 
ours ? For Heaven’s dear sake, let us help one an- 
other! Who will?’ 

I was looking out through a slit in the curtain. 
The men, already wrought to intense feeling by the 
music, were listening with set faces and gleaming 
eyes, and as at the appeal ‘Who will?’ Craig 
raised high his hand, Shaw, Nixon, and a hundred 
men sprang to their feet and held high their hands. 

I have witnessed some thrilling scenes in my life, 
but never anything to equal that: the one man on 
the platform standing at full height, with his hand 
thrown up to heaven, and the hundred men below 
standing straight, with arms up at full length, silent, 
and almost motionless. 

For a moment Craig held them so; and again his 
voice rang out, louder, sterner than before — 

‘All who mean it, say, “By God’s help, I will.”* 

And back from a hundred throats came deep and 
strong the words, ‘ By God’s help, I will.’ 

At this point Mrs. Mavor, whom I had quite for- 
gotten, put her hand on my arm. ‘Go and tell 


Black Rock 


7 ^. 

him,’ she panted, ‘ I want them to come on Thurs- 
day night, as they used to in the other days — go — 
quick,’ and she almost pushed me out. 1 gave 
Craig her message. He held up his hand for si- 
lence. 

‘ Mrs. Mavor wishes me to say that she will be 
glad to see you all, as in the old days, on Thursday 
evening; and I can think of no better place to give 
formal expression to our pledge of this night.’ 

There was a shout of acceptance; and then, at 
some one’s call, the long pent-up feelings of the 
crowd found vent in three mighty cheers for Mrs. 
Mavor. 

‘Now for our old hymn,' called out Mr. Craig, 
‘and Mrs. Mavor will lead us.’ 

He sat down at the organ, played a few bars of 
"The Sweet By and By,’ and then Mrs. Mavor be- 
gan. But not a soul joined till the refrain was 
reached, and then they sang as only men with their 
hearts on fire can sing. But after the last refrain 
Mr. Craig made a sign to Mrs. Mavor, and she sang 
alone, slowly and softly, and with eyes looking far 
away — 

‘ In the sweet by and by, 

We shall meet on that beautiful shore.’ 

1‘herewas no benediction — there seemed no need: 


Waterloo. Our Fight — His Victory 77 

and the men went quietly out. But over and over 
again the voice kept singing in my ears and in my 
heart, ‘ We shall meet on that beautiful shore.' 
And after the sleigh-loads of men had gone and left 
the street empty, as 1 stood with Craig in the radi- 
ant moonlight that made the great mountains about 
come near us, from Sandy's sleigh we heard in the 
distance Baptiste’s French-English song; but the 
song that floated down with the sound of the bells 
from the miners’ sleigh was — 

* We shall meet on that beautiful shore.’ 

‘ Poor old Shaw ! ' said Craig softly. 

When the last sound had died away 1 turned to 
him and said — 

‘ You have won your fight.' 

‘We have won our fight; I was beaten,’ here- 
plied quickly, offering me his hand. Then, taking 
off his cap, and looking up beyond the mountain- 
tops and the silent stars, he added softly, ‘Our 
fight, but His victory.' 

And, thinking it all over, I could not say but per- 
haps he was right. 



J 


■ 




1 

) 

/ 

I 

1 


1 

1 


I 

- . > 



» 

# 

♦ 

% 


Mrs. Mayor’s Storv 


CHAPTER IV 

MRS. mayor’s story 

The days that followed the Black Rock Christmas 
were anxious days and weary, but not for the 
brightest of my life would I change them now; for, 
as after the burning heat or rocking storm the dying 
day lies beautiful in the tender glow of the evening, 
so these days have lost their weariness and lie 
bathed in a misty glory. The years that bring us 
many ills, and that pass so stormfully over us, bear 
away with them the ugliness, the weariness, the 
pain that are theirs, but the beauty, the sweetness, 
the rest they leave untouched, for these are eternal. 
As the mountains, that near at hand stand jagged 
and scarred, in the far distance repose in their soft 
robes of purple haze, so the rough present fades 
into the past, soft and sweet and beautiful. 

I have set myself to recall the pain and anxiety 
of those days and nights when we waited in fear 
for the turn of the fever, but I can only think of the 
patience and gentleness and courage of her who 
stood beside me, bearing more than half my burden. 

8i 


Black Rock 


ti 


And v/hile I can see the face of Leslie Graeme, 
ghastly or flushed, and hear his low moaning or the 
broken words of his delirium, I think chiefly of the 
bright face bending over him, and of the cool, firm, 
swift-moving hands that soothed and smoothed and 
rested, and the voice, like the soft song of a bird 
in the twilight, that never failed to bring peace. 

Mrs. Mavor and I were much together during 
those days. I made my home in Mr. Craig’s shack, 
but most of my time was spent beside my friend. 
We did not see much of Craig, for he was heart- 
deep with the miners, laying plans for the making 
of the League the following Thursday; and though 
he shared our anxiety and was ever ready to relieve 
us, his thought and his talk had mostly to do with 
the League. 

Mrs. Mavor’s evenings were given to the miners, 
but her afternoons mostly to Graeme and to me, 
and then it was I saw another side of her character. 
We would sit in her little dining-room, where the 
pictures on the walls, the quaint old silver, and bits 
of curiously cut glass, all spoke of other and differ- 
ent days, and thence we would roam the world of 
literature and art. Keenly sensitive to all the good 
and beautiful in these, she had her favorites among 
the masters, for whom she was ready to do battle; 


83 


Mrs. Mayor’s Story 

and when her argument, instinct with fancy and 
vivid imagination, failed, she swept away all oppos- 
ing opinion with the swift rush of her enthusiasm; 
so that, though I felt she was beaten, I was left 
without words to reply. Shakespeare and Tenny- 
son and Burns she loved, but not Shelley, nor Byron 
nor even Wordsworth. Browning she knew not, 
and therefore could not rank him with her noblest 
three ; but when I read to her ‘ A Death in the Des- 
ert,’ and came to the noble words at the end of the 
tale — 


* For all was as I say, and now the man 
Lies as he once lay, breast to breast with God,' 

the light shone in her eyes, and she said, ‘ Oh, that 
is good and great; I shall get much out of him; I 
had always feared he was impossible.’ And * Par- 
acelsus,’ too, stirred her; but when I recited the 
thrilling fragment, ‘Prospice,’ on to that closing 
rapturous cry — 

* Then a light, then thy breast, 

O thou soul of my soul ! I shall clasp thee again. 

And with God be the rest ! ’ — 

the red colour faded from her cheek, her breath came- 
in a sob, and she rose quickly and passed out with- 
out a word. Ever after, Browning was among her 


«4 


Black Rock 


gods. Bui when we talked of music, she, adoring 
Wagner, soared upon the wings of the mighty 
Tannhauser, far above, into regions unknown, leav- 
ing me to walk soberly with Beethoven and Men- 
delssohn. Yet with all our free, frank talk, there 
was all the while that in her gentle courtesy which 
kept me from venturing into any chamber of her life 
whose door she did not set freely open to me. So 
I vexed myself about her, and when Mr. Craig re- 
turned the next week from the Landing where he 
had been for some days, my first question was — 
‘Who is Mrs. Mavor? And how in the name of 
all that is wonderful and unlikely does she come to 
be here ? And why does she stay ? ’ 

He would not answer then; whether it was that 
his mind was full of the coming struggle, or 
whether he shrank from the tale, I know not; but 
that night, when we sat together beside his fire, he 
told me the story, while I smoked. He was worn 
with his long, hard drive, and with the burden of 
his work, but as he went on with his tale, looking 
into the fire as he told it, he forgot all his present 
weariness and lived again the scenes he painted for 
me. This was his story : — 

M remember well my first sight of her, as she 
sprang from the front seat of the stage to the 


85 


Mrs. Mayor’s Story 

ground, hardly touching her husband’s liand. She 
looked a mere girl. Let’s see— five years ago— she 
couldn’t have been a day over twenty-three. She 
looked barely twenty. Her swift glance swept over 
the group of miners at the hotel door, and then 
rested on the mountains standing in all their autumn 
glory. 

was proud of our mountains that evening. 
Turning to her husband, she exclaimed: “O Lewis, 
are they not grand? and lovely, too?” Every 
miner lost his heart then and there, but all waited 
for Abe the driver to give his verdict before ventur- 
ing an opinion. Abe said nothing until he had 
taken a preliminary drink, and then, calling all 
hands to fill up, he lifted his glass high, and said 
solemnly — 

‘ “Boys, here’s to her.” 

‘Like a flash every glass was emptied, and Abe 
called out, “ Fill her up again, boys ! My treat! ” 

‘He was evidently quite worked up. Then he 
began, with solemn emphasis — 

‘“Boys, you hear me! She’s a No. i, triple X, 

the pure quill with a bead on it: she’s a ,” and for 

the first time in his Black Rock history Abe was 
stuck for a word. Some one suggested “ angel.” 

‘“Angel!” repeated Abe, with infinite contempt. 


£6 


Black Rock 


‘‘Angel be blowed” (I paraphrase here); “angels 
ain’t in the same month with her; I’d like to see any 
blanked angel swing my team around them curves 
without a shiver.” 

‘ “ Held the lines herself, Abe ? ” asked a miner. 

‘ “That’s what,” said Abe; and then he went off 
into a fusillade of scientific profanity, expressive of 
his esteem for the girl who had swung his team 
round the curves; and the miners nodded to each 
other, and winked their entire approval of Abe’s 
performance, for this was his specialty. 

‘ Very decent fellow, Abe, but his talk wouldn’t 
print.’ 

Here Craig paused, as if balancing Abe’s virtues 
and vices. 

‘Well,’ I urged, ‘who is she?’ 

‘Oh yes,’ he said, recalling himself; ‘she is an 
Edinburgh young lady — met Lewis Mavor, a young 
Scotch-Englishman, in London — wealthy, good 
family, and all that, but fast, and going to pieces 
at home. His people, who own large shares in 
these mines here, as a last resort sent him out 
here to reform. Curiously innocent ideas those 
old country people have of the reforming properties 
of this atmosphere! They send their young bloods 
here to reform. Here! in this devil’s camp-ground. 


87 


Mrs. Mayor’s Story 

where a man s lust is his only law, and when, from 
sheer monotony, a man must betake himself to the 
only excitement of the place — that offered by the 
saloon. Good people in the east hold up holy 
hands of horror at these gcdless miners; but I tell 
you it's asking these boys a good deal to keep 
straight and clean in a place like this. I take my ex- 
citement in fighting the devil and doing my work 
generally, and that gives me enough; but these 
poor chaps — hard worked, homeless, with no break 
or change — God help them and me! ’ and his voice 
sank low. 

‘Well,’ 1 persisted, ‘did Mavor reform?' 

Again he roused himself. ‘ Reform ? Not ex- 
actly. In six months he had broken through all re- 
straint; and, mind you, not the miners’ fault — not a 
miner helped him doWn. It was a sight to make 
angels weep- when Mrs. Mavor would come to the 
saloon door for her husband. Every miner would 
vanish; they could not look upon her shame, and 
they would send Mavor forth in the charge of Billy 
Breen, a queer little chap, who had belonged to the 
Mayors in some way in the old country, and be- 
tween them they would get him home. How she 
stood it puzzles me to this day; but she never made 
any sign, and her courage never failed. It was al- 


88 


Black Rock 


ways a bright, brave, proud face she held up to the 
world — except in church; there it was different. I 
used to preach my sermons, I believe, mostly for 
her — but never so that she could suspect — as bravely 
and as cheerily as I could. And as she listened, 
and especially as she sang — how she used to sing in 
those days! — there was no touch of pride in her 
face, though the courage never died out, but appeal, 
appeal I I could have cursed aloud the cause of her 
misery, or wept for the pity of it. Before her baby 
was born he seemed to pull himself together, for he 
was quite mad about her, and from the day the 
baby came — talk about miracles! — from that day he 
never drank a drop. She gave the baby over to 
him, and the baby simply absorbed him. 

‘He was a new man. He could not drink 
whisky and kiss his baby. And the miners — it 
was really absurd if it were not so pathetic. It 
was the first baby in Black Rock, and they used 
to crowd Mavor’s shop and peep into the room 
at the back of it — 1 forgot to tell you that when he 
lost his position as manager he opened a hardware 
shop, for his people chucked him, and he was too 
proud to write home for money — ^just for a chance 
to be asked in to see the baby. I came upon Nixon 
standing at the back of the shop after he had seen 


89 


Mrs. Mayor’s Story 

the baby for the first time, sobbing hard, and to 
my question he replied: “It’s just like my own.’* 
You can’t understand this. But to men who have 
lived so long in the mountains that they have for- 
gotten what a baby looks like, who have had ex- 
perience of humanity only in its roughest, foulest 
form, this little mite, sweet and clean, was like an 
angel fresh from heaven, the one link in all that 
black camp that bound them to what was purest 
and best in their past. 

‘And to see the mother and her baby handle 
the miners! 

‘Oh, it was all beautiful beyond words! I shall 
never forget the shock I got one night when I 
found ‘ ‘ Old Ricketts ” nursing the baby. A drunken 
old beast he was; but there he was sitting, sober 
enough, making extraordinary faces at the baby, 
who was grabbing at his nose and whiskers and 
cooing in blissful delight. Poor “Old Ricketts’* 
looked as if he had been caught stealing, and mut- 
tering something about having to go, gazed wildly 
round for some place in which to lay the baby, 
when in came the mother, saying in her own sweet, 
frank way: “O Mr. Ricketts” (she didn’t find out 
till afterward his name was Shaw), “would you 
mind keeping her just a little longer ? — 1 shall be 


Black Rock 


90 

back in a few minutes." And ‘'Old Ricketts” 
guessed he could wait. 

'But in six months mother and baby, between 
them, transformed "Old Ricketts" into Mr. Shaw, 
fire-boss of the mines. And then in the evenings, 
when she would be singing her baby to sleep, the 
little shop would be full of miners, listening in 
dead silence to the baby-songs, and the English 
songs, and the Scotch songs she poured forth with- 
out stint, for she sang more for them than for her 
baby. No wonder they adored her. She was so 
bright, so gay, she brought light with her when she 
went into the camp, into the pits — for she went down 
to see the men work — or into a sick miner’s shack; 
and many a man, lonely and sick for home or wife, 
or baby or mother, found in that back room cheer 
and comfort and courage, and to many a poor 
broken wretch that room became, as one miner put 
it, "the anteroom to heaven." ’ 

Mr. Craig paused, and 1 waited. Then he went 
on slowly — 

'For a year and a half that was the happiest 
home in all the world, till one day ’ 

He put his face in his hands, and shuddered. 

‘I don’t think I can ever forget the awful horror 
of that bright fall afternoon, when "Old Ricketts’’ 


Mrs. Mayor’s Story 91 

came breathless to me and gasped, “ Come! for the 
dear Lord’s sake,” and I rushed after him. At the 
mouth of the shaft lay three men dead. One was 
Lewis Mayor. He had gone down to superintend 
the running of a new drift; the two men, half 
drunk with Slayin’s whisky, set off a shot prema- 
turely, to their own and Mayor’s destruction. They 
were badly burned, but his face was untouched. A 
miner was sponging off the bloody froth oozing 
from his lips. The others v/ere standing about 
waiting for me to speak. But I could find no 
word, for my heart was sick, thinking, as they 
were, of the young mother and her baby waiting at 
home. So I stood, looking stupidly from one to 
the other, trying to find some reason — coward that 
1 was — why another should bear the news rather 
than I. And while we stood there, looking at one 
another in fear, there broke upon us the sound of a 
yoice mounting high aboye the birch tops, sing- 
ing— 

* ** Will ye no’ come back again ? , ^ 

Will ye no’ come back again ? ’ 

Better lo’ed ye canna be, 

Will ye no’ come back again ? ” 

'A strange terror seized us. Instinctively the 
men closed up in front of the body, and stood in 


92 


Black Rock 


silence. Nearer and nearer came the clear, sweet 
voice, ringing like a silver bell up the steep — 

* “ Sweet the lav’rock’s note and lang, 

Liltin’ wildly up the glen. 

But aye tae me he sings ae sang. 

Will ye no* come back again ? ” 

‘Before the verse was finished “Old Ricketts” 
had dropped on his knees, sobbing out brokenly, 
“O God! O God! have pity, have pity, have 
pity!” — and every man took off his hat. And still 
the voice came nearer, singing so brightly the re- 
frain, 

* •* Will ye no’ come back again ? ” 

‘It became unbearable. “Old Ricketts ” sprang 
suddenly to his feet, and, gripping me by the arm, 
said piteously, “Oh, go to her! for Heaven's sake, 
go to her! ” I next remember standing in her path 
and seeing her holding out her hands full of red 
lilies, crying out, “Are they not lovely? Lewis is 
so fond of them! ” With the promise of much finer 
ones I turned her down a path toward the river, 
talking I know not what follyf till her great eyes 
grew grave, then anxious, and my tongue stam- 
mered and became silent. Then, laying her hand 
upon tny arm, she said with gentle sweetness, “ Tell 


93 


Mrs. Mayor’s Story 

me your trouble, Mr. Craig," and I knew my agony 
had come, and I burst out, “Oh, if it were only 
mine! " She turned quite white, and with her deep 
eyes — you’ve noticed her eyes — drawing the truth 
out of mine, she said, “Is it mine, Mr. Craig, and 
my baby’s ? ’’ 1 waited, thinking with what words 
to begin. She put one hand to her heart, and with 
the other caught a little poplar-tree that shivered 
under her grasp, and said with white lips, but even 
more gently, “Tell me.’’ I wondered at my voice 
being so steady as I said, “Mrs. Mavor, God will 
help you and your baby. There has been an ac- 
cident — and it is all over.’’ 

* She was a miner’s wife, and there was no need 
for more. I could see the pattern of the sunlight 
falling through the trees upon the grass. I could 
hear the murmur of the river, and the cry of the 
cat-bird in the bushes, but we seemed to be in a 
strange and unreal world. Suddenly she stretched 
out her hands to me, and with a little moan said, 
“ Take me to him.’’ 

‘ ‘■‘Sit down for a moment oi two,’ 1 entreated. 

‘“No, no! I am quite ready. See,’ she added 
quietly, “lam quite strong.’’ 

‘I set off by a short cut leading to her home, 
hoping the men would be there before us; but, 


94 


Black Rock 


passing me, she walked swiftly through the trees^ 
and I followed in fear. As we came near the main 
path 1 heard the sound of feet, and I tried to stop 
her, but she, too, had heard and knew. **Oh, let 
me go! ” she said piteously; “ you need not fear.” 
And 1 had not the heart to stop her. !n a little 
opening among the pines we met the bearers. 
When the men saw her, they laid their burden 
gently down upon the carpet of yellow pine* 
needles, and then, for they had the hearts of true 
men in them, they went away into the bushes and 
left her alone with her dead. She went swiftly to his 
side, making no cry, but kneeling beside him she 
stroked his face and hands, and touched his curls with 
her fingers, murmuring all the time soft words of 
love. “O my darling, my bonnie, bonnie darling, 
speak to me! Will ye not speak to me just one 
little word? O my love, my love, my heart’s love! 
Listen, my darling!” And she put her lips to his 
ear, whispering, and then the awful stillness. 
Suddenly she lifted her head and scanned his face, 
and then, glancing round with a wild surprise in 
her eyes, she cried, “ He will not speak to me! Oh, 
he will not speak to me!” I signed to the men, 
and as they came forward 1 went to her and took 
her hands. 


95 


Mrs. Mayor’s Story 

*“0h,” she said, with a wail in her voice; “he 
will not speak to me.” The men were sobbing 
aloud. She looked at them with wide-open eyes 
of wonder. “Why are they weeping.^ Will he 
never speak to me again ? Tell me,” she insisted 
gently. The words were running through my 
head — 


‘ “ There’s a land that is fairer than day,” 

and I said them over to her, holding her hands 
firmly in mine. She gazed at me as if in a dream, 
and the light slowly faded from her eyes as she 
said, tearing her hands from mine and waving them 
toward the mountains and the woods — 

‘ “ But never more here ? Never more here ? ” 

‘ I believe in heaven and the other life, but I con- 
fess that for a moment it all seemed shadowy 
beside the reality of this warm, bright world, full 
of life and love. She was very ill for two nights, 
and when the coffin was closed a new baby lay in 
the father’s arms. 

‘ She slowly came back to life, but there were no 
more songs. The miners still come about her shop, 
and talk to her baby, and bring her their sorrows 
and troubles; but though she is always gentle, al- 
most tender, with them, no man ever says “Sing.” 


96 


Black Rock 


And that is why I am glad she sang last week; it 
will he good for her and good for them.’ 

* Why does she stay ? ’ I asked. 

‘Mayors people wanted her to go to them,’ he 
replied. 

‘They have money — she told me about it, but 
her heart is in the grave up there under the pines; 
and besides, she hopes to do something for the 
miners, and she will not leave them.' 

I am afraid i snorted a little impatiently as I said, 
‘Nonsense! why, with her face, and manner, and 
voice she could be anything she liked in Edinburgh 
or in London.’ 

‘And why Edinburgh or London?’ he asked 
coolly. 

‘Why?’ I repeated a little hotly. ‘You think 
this is better ? ’ 

‘Nazareth was good enough for the Lord of 
glory,’ he answered, with a smile none too bright; 
but it drew my heart to him, and my heat was 
gone. 

‘ How long will she stay ? ’ I asked. 

‘Till her work is done,’ he replied. 

‘And when will that be?’ I asked impatiently. 

‘When God chooses,’ he answered gravely; 
‘and don’t you ever think but that it is worth 


Mrs. Mayor’s Story 97 

while. One value of work is not that crowds stare 
at it. Read history, man ! ' 

He rose abruptly and began to walk about. 
‘And don’t miss the whole meaning of the Life 
that lies at the foundation of your religion. Yes,' 
he added to himself, ‘ the work is worth doing — 
worth even her doing.’ 

I could not think so then, but the light of the 
after years proved him wiser than 1. A man, to 
see far, must climb to some height, and I was too 
much upon the plain in those days to catch even a 
glimpse of distant sunlit uplands of triumphant 
achievement that lie beyond the valley of self-sacri- 
fice. 



The Making of the League 


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CHAPTER V 


THE MAKING OF THE LEAGUE 

Thursday morning found Craig anxious, even 
gloomy, but with fight in every line of his face. I 
tried to cheer him in my clumsy way by chaffing 
him about his League. But he did not blaze up as 
he often did. It was a thing too near his heart for 
that. He only shrank a little from my stupid chaff 
and said — 

'Don't, old chap; this is a good deal to me. 
I’ve tried for two years to get this, and if it falls 
through now, I shall find it hard to bear.’ 

Then I repented my light words and said, 'Why! 
the thing will go sure enough : after that scene in 
the church they won’t go back.’ 

‘Poor fellows!’ he said as if to himself; 
'whisky is about the only excitement they have, 
and they find it pretty tough to give it up; and a 
k>t of the men are against the total abstinence idea. 
It seems rot to them.’ 

‘It is pretty steep,’ I said. ‘ Can’t you do with- 
out it ? ' 


•?c f 


102 


Black Rock 


‘No; I fear not. There is nothing else for it. 
Some of them talk of compromise. They want to 
quit the saloon and drink quietly in their shacks. 
The moderate drinker may have his place in othor 
countries, though I can’t see it. I haven’t thought 
that out, but here the only safe man is the man who 
quits it dead and fights it straight; anything else is 
sheerest humbug and nonsense.' 

I had not gone in much for total abstinence up to 
this time, chiefly because its advocates seemed for 
the most part to be somewhat ill-balanced; but as I 
listened to Craig, I began to feel that perhaps there 
was a total abstinence side to the temperance ques- 
tion; and as to Black Rock, I could see how it must 
be one thing or the other. 

We found Mrs. Mavor brave and bright. She 
shared Mr. Craig’s anxiety but not his gloom. Her 
courage was of that serene kind that refuses to be- 
lieve defeat possible, and lifts the spirit into the 
triumph of final victory. Through the past week 
she had been carefully disposing her forces and 
winning recruits. And yet she never seemed to 
urge or persuade the men; but as evening after 
evening the miners dropped into the cosy roorw 
downstairs, with her talk and her songs she 
charmed them till they were wholly hers. She 


The Making of the League 103 

took for granted their loyalty, trusted them utterly, 
and so made it difficult for them to be other than 
true men. 

That night Mrs. Mayor’s large storeroom, which 
had been fitted up with seats, was crowded with 
miners when Mr. Craig and 1 entered. 

After a glance over the crowd, Craig said, 
'There’s the manager; that means war.’ And I 
saw a tall man, very fair, whose chin fell away to 
the vanishing point, and whose hair was parted 
in the middle, talking to Mrs. Mavor. She was 
dressed in some rich soft stuff that became her 
well. She was looking beautiful as ever, but 
there was something quite new in her manner. 
Her air of good-fellowship was gone, and she was 
the high-bred lady, whose gentle dignity and 
sweet grace, while very winning, made familiarity 
impossible. 

The manager was doing his best, and appeared 
to be well pleased with himself. ' She’ll get him if 
any one can. I failed,' said Craig. 

I stood looking at the men, and a fine lot of 
fellows they were. Free, easy, bold in their bear- 
ing, they gave no sign of rudeness; and, from their 
frequent glances toward Mrs. Mavor, I could see 
they were always conscious of her presence. No 


104 


Black Rock 


men are so truly gentle as are the Westerners in the 
presence of a good woman. They were evidently 
of all classes and ranks originally, but now, and in 
this country of real measurements, they ranked 
simply according to the ‘ man ’ in them. ‘ See 
that handsome young chap of dissipated appear- 
ance?' said Craig; ‘that’s Vernon Winton, an 
Oxford graduate, blue blood, awfully plucky, 
but quite gone. When he gets repentant, instead 
of shooting himself, he comes to Mrs. Mavor. 
Fact.’ 

‘From Oxford University to Black Rock mining 
camp is something of a step,' 1 replied. 

‘That queer-looking little chap in the corner is 
Billy Breen. How in the world has he got here ? ’ 
went on Mr. Craig. Queer-looking he was. A little 
man, with a small head set on heavy square shoul- 
ders, long arms, and huge hands that sprawled all 
over his body; altogether a most ungainly specimen 
of humanity. 

By this time Mrs. Mavor had finished with the 
manager, and was in the centre of a group of 
miners. Her grand air was all gone, and she was 
their comrade, their friend, one of themselves. 
Nor did she assume the role of entertainer, but 
rather did she, with half-shy air, cast herself upon 


The Making of the League 105 

their chivalry, and they were too truly gentlemen to 
fail her. It is hard to make Western men, and 
especially old-timers, talk. But this gift was hers, 
and it stirred my admiration to see her draw on a 
grizzled veteran to tell how, twenty years ago, he 
had crossed the Great Divide, and had seen and 
done what no longer fell to men to see or do in 
these new days. And so she won the old-timer. 
But it was beautiful to see the innocent guile with 
which she caught Billy Breen, and drew him to her 
corner near the organ. What she v/as saying ! 
knew not, but poor Billy was protesting, waving 
his big hands. 

The meeting came to order, with Shaw in the 
chair, and the handsome young Oxford man secre- 
tary. Shaw stated the object of the meeting in a 
few halting words; but when he came to speak of 
the pleasure he and all felt in being together in that 
room, his words flowed in a stream, warm and full. 
Then there was a pause, and Mr. Craig was called. 
But he knew better than to speak at that point. 
Finally Nixon rose hesitatingly; but, as he caught a 
bright smile from Mrs. Mavor, he straightened him- 
self as if for a fight. 

‘I ain’t no good at makin’ speeches,’ he began; 
‘ but it ain’t speeches we want. We’ve got some- 


io6 


Black Rock 


thin' to do, and what we want to know is how to 
do it. And to be right plain, we want to know 
how to drive this cursed whisky out of Black 
Rock. You all know what it’s doing for us — at 
least for some of us. And it’s time to stop it 
now, or for some of us it’ll mighty soon be too 
late. And the only way to stop its work is to quit 
drinkin’ it and help others to quit. I hear some 
talk of a League, and what I say is, if it’s a 
League out and out against whisky, a Total 
Abstinence right to the ground, then I’m with it 
— that’s my talk — 1 move we make that kind of 
League.' 

Nixon sat down amid cheers and a chorus of 
remarks, ‘Good man!’ ‘That’s the talk!' 
‘Stay with it!’ but he waited for the smile and 
the glance that came to him from the beautiful 
face in the corner, and with that he seemed 
content. 

Again there was silence. Then the secretary rose 
with a slight flush upon his handsome, delicate face, 
and seconded the motion. If they would pardon a 
personal reference he would give them his reasons. 
He had come to this country to make his fortune; 
now he was anxious to make enough to enable him 
to go home with some degree of honour. His home 


The Making of the League 107 

held everything that was dear to him. Between 
him and that home, between him and all that was 
good and beautiful and honourable, stood whisky. 
M am ashamed to confess,' and the flush deepened 
on his cheek, and his lips grew thinner, ‘ that I feel 
the need of some such league.' His handsome 
face, his perfect style of address, learned possibly 
in th/O ‘Union,' but, more than all, his show of 
nerve — for these men knew how to value that — 
made a strong impression on his audience; but 
there were no following cheers. 

Mr. Craig appeared hopeful; but on Mrs. Mavor's 
face there was a look of wistful, tender pity, for 
she knew how much the words had cost the lad. 

Then up rose a sturdy, hard-featured man, with 
a burr in his voice that proclaimed his birth. His 
name was George Crawford, 1 afterward learned, 
but every one called him Geordie. He v/as a char- 
acter in his way, fond of his glass; but though he 
was never known to refuse a drink, he was never 
known to be drunk. He took his drink, for the 
most part, with bread and cheese in his own shack, 
or with a friend or two in a sober, respectable way, 
but never could be induced to join the wild carous- 
als in Slavin's saloon. He made the highest wages, 
but was far too true a Scot to spend his money 


ro8 


Black Rock 


recklessly. Every one waited eagerly to hear 
Geordie’s mind. He spoke solemnly, as befitted a 
Scotsman expressing a deliberate opinion, and care- 
fully, as if choosing his best English, for when 
Geordie became excited no one in Black Rock could 
understand him. 

'Maister Chairman,' said Geordie, M’m aye for 
temperance in a’ things.' There was a shout of 
laughter, at which Geordie gazed round in pained 
surprise, ‘i’ll no’ deny,' he went on in an ex- 
planatory tone, ‘ that I tak ma mornin’, an’ maybe 
a nip at noon, an’ a wee drap aifter wark in the 
evenin’, an’ whiles a sip o’ toddy wi’ a freen thae 
cauld nichts. But I’m no’ a guzzler, an’ I dinna 
gang in wi’ thae loons dingin’ aboot guid money.’ 

‘And that’s thrue for you, me bye,’ interrupted 
a rich Irish brogue, to the delight of the crowd and 
the amazement of Geordie, who went calmly on — 

‘ An’ I canna bide yon saloon whaur they sell sic 
awfu’-like stuff — it’s mair like lye nor guid whisky, 
— and whaur ye're never sure o’ yer richt change. 
It's an awfu’-like place; man! ' — and Geordie began 
to warm up — ‘ ye can juist smell the sulphur when 
ye gang in. But I dinna care aboot thae Temper- 
ance Soceeities, wi' their pledges an’ havers; an’ I 
canna see what hairm can come till a man by takin' 


The Making of the League 109 

a bottle o' guid Glenlivet hame wi’ him. I canna 
bide thae teetotal buddies.' 

Geordie's speech was followed by loud applause, 
partly appreciative of Geordie himself, but largely 
sympathetic with his position. 

Two or three men followed in the same strain, 
advocating a league for. mutual improvement and 
social purposes, but without the teetotal pledge; 
they were against the saloon, but didn't see why 
they should not take a drink now and then. 

Finally the manager rose to support his * friend, 
Mistah — ah — Cwafoad,’ ridiculing the idea of a 
total abstinence pledge as fanatical and indeed 
‘absuad.' He was opposed to the saloon, and 
would like to see a club formed, with a comfortable 
club-room, books, magazines, pictures, games, any- 
thing, ‘ dontcheknow, to make the time pass pleas- 
antly ' ; but it was ‘ absuad to ask men to abstain 
fwom a pwopah use of — aw — nouwishing dwinks,* 
because some men made beasts of themselves. He 
concluded by offering $50.00 toward the support of 
such a club. 

The current of feeling was setting strongly 
against the total abstinence idea, and Craig's face 
was hard and his eyes gleamed like coals. Then he 
did a bit of generalship. He proposed that since 


110 


Black Rock 


they had the two plans clearly before them they 
should take a few minutes’ intermission in which to 
make up their minds, and he was sure they would 
be glad to have Mrs. Mavor sing. In the interval 
the men talked in groups, eagerly, even fiercely, 
hampered seriously in the forceful expression of 
their opinion by the presence of Mrs. Mavor, who 
glided from group to group, dropping a word here 
and a smile there. She reminded me of a general 
riding along the ranks, bracing his men for the com- 
ing battle. She paused beside Geordie, spoke ear- 
nestly for a few moments, while Geordie gazed 
solemnly at her, and then she came back to Billy in 
the corner near me. What she was saying I could 
not hear, but poor Billy was protesting, spreading 
his hands out aimlessly before him, but gazing 
at her the while in dumb admiration. Then she 
came to me. ‘ Poor Billy, he was good to my 
husband,’ she said softly, * and he has a good 
heart.’ 

‘He’s not much to look it,’ I could not help 
saying. 

‘The oyster hides its pearl,' she answered, a 
little reproachfully. 

‘The shell is apparent enough,' 1 replied, for the 
mischief was in me. 


11 


The Making of the League 

‘Ah yes/ she replied softly, ‘but it is the pearl 
we love/ 

I moved over beside Billy, whose eyes were fol- 
lowing Mrs. Mavor as she went to speak to Mr. 
Craig. ‘Well,’ 1 said; ‘you all seem to have a 
high opinion of her.' 

‘An 'igh hopinion,' he replied, in deep scorn. 
^ An 'igh hopinion, you calls it.' 

‘What would you call it?’ I asked, wishing to 
draw him out.' 

‘Oi don't call it nothink,’ he replied, spreading 
out his rough hands. 

‘She seems very nice,’ I said indifferently. 

He drew his eyes away from Mrs. Mavor, and 
gave attention to me for the first time. 

‘Nice I’ he repeated with fine contempt; and 
then he added impressively, ‘ Them as don’t know 
shouldn’t say nothink.’ 

‘You are right,’ I answered earnestly, ‘and I 
am quite of your opinion.’ 

He gave me a quick glance out of his little, deep- 
set, dark-blue eyes, and opened his heart to me. 
He told me, in his quaint speech, how again and 
again she had taken him in and nursed him, and 
encouraged him, and sent him out with a new 
heart for his battle, until, for very shame’s sake 


II2 


Black Rock 


at his own miserable weakness, he had kept out of 
her way for many months, going steadily down. 

^Now, oi hain’t got no grip; but when she says 
to me to-night, says she, '‘Oh, Billy " — she calls me 
Billy to myself' (this with a touch of pride) — ‘ “oh, 
Billy," says she, “ we must 'ave a total habstinence 
league to-night, and oi want you to ’elp!" and she 
keeps a-lookin’ at me with those heyes o’ hern till, 
if you believe me, sir,’ lowering his voice to an 
emphatic whisper, ‘ though oi knowed oi couldn’t 
’elp none, afore oi knowed oi promised ’er oi would. 
It’s ’er heyes. When them heyes says “do," hup 
you steps and “ does." ’ 

I remembered my first look into her eyes, and I 
could quite understand Billy’s submission. Just as 
she began to sing I went over to Geordie and took 
my seat beside him. She began with an English 
slumber song, ‘ Sleep, Baby, Sleep ’ — one of Barry 
Cornwall’s, I think, — and then sang a love-song 
with the refrain, ‘ Love once again ’ ; but no thrills 
came to me, and I began to wonder if her spell over 
me was broken. Geordie, who had been listening 
somewhat indifferently, encouraged me, however, 
by saying, ‘She’s just pittin’ aff time with thae 
feckless sangs; man, there’s nae grup till them.’ 
But when, after a few minutes’ pause, she began 


The Making of the League 113 

*My Ain Fireside,’ Geordie gave a sigh of satisfac- 
tion. ‘Ay, that’s somethin' like,’ and when she 
finished the first verse he gave me a dig in the ribs 
with his elbow that took my breath away, saying 
in a whisper, ‘Man, hear till yon, wull ye?’ And 
again I found the spell upon me. It was not the 
voice after all, but the great soul behind that thrilled 
and compelled. She was seeing, feeling, living 
what she sang, and her voice showed us her heart. 
The cosy fireside, with its bonnie, blithe blink, 
where no care could abide, but only peace and 
love, was vividly present to her, and as she sang 
we saw it too. When she came to the last verse — 

* When I draw in my stool 
On my cosy hearth-stane, 

My heart loups sae licht 
I scarce ken’t for my ain,* 

there was a feeling of tears in the flowing song, 
and we knew the words had brought her a picture 
of the fireside that would always seem empty. I 
felt the tears in my eyes, and, wondering at my- 
self, I cast a stealthy glance at the men about me; 
and I saw that they, too, were looking through 
their hearts’ windows upon firesides and ingle- 
neuks that gleamed from far. 

And then she sang ‘ The Auld Hoose,’ and Geordie. 


114 


Black Rock 


giving me another poke, said, * That's ma ain sang,’ 
and \vhen I asked him what he meant, he whispered 
fiercely, *Wheesht, man!’ and I did, for his face 
looked dangerous. 

In a pause between the verses I heard Geordie 
saying to himself, ‘ Ay, I maun gie it up, I doot.’ 

'What?' 1 ventured. 

'Naething ava.' And then he added impa- 
tiently, 'Man, but ye’re an inqueesitive buddie,’ 
after which I subsided into silence. 

Immediately upon the meeting being called to 
order, Mr. Craig made his speech, and it was a fine 
bit of work. Beginning with a clear statement of 
the object in view, he set in contrast the two kinds 
of leagues proposed. One, a league of men who 
would take whisky in moderation; the other, a 
league of men who were pledged to drink none 
themselves, and to prevent in every honourable way 
others from drinking. There was no long argu- 
ment, but he* spoke at white heat; and as he ap- 
pealed to the men to think, each not of himself 
alone, but of the others as well, the yearning, born 
of his long months of desire and of toil, vibrated in 
his voice and reached to the heart. Many men 
looked uncomfortable and uncertain, and even the 
manager looked none too cheerful. 


The Making of the League nS 

At this critical moment the crowd got a shock. 
Billy Breen shuffled out to the front, and, in a voice 
shaking with nervousness and emotion, began to 
speak, his large, coarse hands wandering tremu- 
lously about. 

‘Oi hain’t no bloomin' temperance horator, and 
mayhap ci hain’t no right to speak 'ere, but oi got 
somethin’ to saigh (say) and oi 'm agoin’ to 
saigh it. 

‘ Parson, 'ee says is it wisky or no wisky in this 
'ere club ? If ye hask me, wich (which) ye don’t, 
then no wisky, says oi ; and if ye hask why ? — look 
at me! Once oi could mine more coal than hany 
man in the camp; now oi hain't fit to be a sorter. 
Once oi ’ad some pride and hambition; now oi 
'angs round awaitin’ for some one to saigh, “’Ere, 
Billy, ’ave summat.” Once oi made good paigh 
(pay), and sent it ’ome regular to my poor old 
mother (she's in the wukus now, she is) ; oi hain’t 
sent 'er hany for a year and a 'alf. Once Billy was 
a good fellow and ’ad plenty o’ friends; now Slavirr 
'isself kicks un hout, 'ee does. Why ? why ?" His 
voice rose to a shriek. 'Because when Billy 'ad 
money in 'is pocket, hevery man in this bloomin’ 
camp as meets un at hevery corner says, “’Elio, 
Billy, wat’ll ye 'ave ? ” And there’s wisky at Slav- 


Black Rock 


ii6 

in's, and there’s wisky in the shacks, and hevery 
'oliday and hevery Sunday there’s wisky, and w’en 
ye feel bad it’s wisky, and w'en ye feel good it’s 
wisky, and heverywhere and halways it’s wisky, 
wisky, wisky! And now ye’re goin’ to stop it, and 
*ow ? T’ manager, 'ee says picters and magazines. 
'Ee takes % wine and ’is beer like a gentleman, ’ee 
does, and 'ee don’t 'av^e no use for Billy Breen. 
Billy, 'ee’s a beast, and t' manager, 'ee kicks un 
hout. But supposin’ Billy wants to stop bein’ a 
beast, and starts a- try in’ to be a man again, and 
w’en ’ee gets good an’ dry, along comes some un 
and says, ** ’Elio, Billy, ’ave a smile,” it hain’t pic- 
ters nor magazines 'ud stop un then. Picters and 
magazines! Gawd ’elp the man as hain’t nothin’ 
but picters and magazines to ’elp un w’en ’ee’s got 
a devil hinside and a devil houtside a-shovin’ and 
a-drawin' of un down to 'ell. And that’s w’ere oi 
a-goin’ straight, and yer bloomin’ League, wisky 
or no wisky, can’t help me. But,' and he lifted his 
trembling hands above his head, Mf ye stop the 
wisky a-flowin’ round this camp, ye’ll stop some of 
these lads that’s a-followin’ me 'ard. Yes, you! 
and you! and you!’ and his voice rose to a wild 
scream as he shook a trembling finger at one and 
another. 


The Making of the League 117 

‘Man, it’s fair gruesome tae hear him,’ said 
Geordie; ‘he’s no' canny;' and reaching out for 
Billy as he went stumbling past, he pulled him 
down to a seat beside him, saying, ‘ Sit doon, lad, 
sit doon. We’ll mak a man 0' ye yet.' Then he 
rose and, using many r’s, said, * Maister Chairman, 
a' doot we’ll juist hae to gie it up.’ 

‘ Give it up ? ’ called out Nixon. ‘ Give up the 
League ? ’ 

‘Nal na! lad, but juist the wee drap whusky. 
It’s nae that guid onyway, and it’s a terrible price. 
Man, gin ye gang tae Henderson’s in Buchanan 
Street, in Gleska, ye ken, ye’ll get mair for three- 
an’-saxpence than ye wull at Slavin’s for five dol- 
lars. An’ it’ll no' pit ye mad like yon stuff, but it 
gangs doon smooth an’ saft-like. But ’ (regretfully) 
‘ye’ll no’ can get it here; an’ a’m thinkin’ a’ll juist 
sign yon teetotal thing.’ And up he strode to the 
table and put his name down in the book Craig had 
ready. Then to Billy he said, ‘ Come awa, lad! pit 
yer name doon, an’ we’ll stan’ by ye.’ 

Poor Billy looked around helplessly, his nerve all 
gone, and sat still. There was a swift rustle of 
garments, and Mrs. Mavor was beside him, and, in 
a voice that only Billy and I could hear, said, 
* You’ll sign with me, Billy ? ’ 


Black Rock 


ii8 

Billy gazed at her with a hopeless look in his 
eyes, and shook his little head. She leaned slightly 
toward him, smiling brightly, and, touching his 
arm gently, said — 

‘Come, Billy, there’s no fear,’ and in a lower 
voice, ‘God will help you.’ 

As Billy went up, following Mrs. Mavor close, a 
hush fell on the men until he had put his name to 
the pledge; then they came up, man by man, and 
signed. But Craig sat with his head down till 1 
touched his shoulder. He took my hand and held 
it fast, saying over and over, under his breath, 
' Thank God, thank God! ’ 

And so ^he League was made. 


Black Rock Religion 









\ 



CHAPTER VI 


BLACK ROCK RELIGION 

When I grow weary with the conventions of re* 
ligion, and sick in my soul from feeding upon 
husks, that the churches too often offer me, in the 
shape of elaborate service and eloquent discourses, 
so that in my sickness 1 doubt and doubt, then 1 go 
back to the communion in Black Rock and the days 
preceding it, and the fever and the weariness leave 
me, and 1 grow humble and strong. The simplicity 
and rugged grandeur of the faith, the humble grati- 
tude of the rough men 1 see about the table, and 
the calm radiance of one saintly face, rest and re- 
call me. 

Not its most enthusiastic apologist would call 
: Black Rock a religious community, but it possessed 
I in a marked degree that eminent Christian virtue of 
tolerance. All creeds, all shades of religious opin- 
ion, were allowed, and it v/as generally conceded 
that one was as good as another. It is fair to say, 

I however, that Black Rock’s catholicity was negative 
rather than positive. The only religion objection- 
able was that insisted upon as a necessity. It never 


122 


Black Rock 


occurred to any one to consider religion other than 
as a respectable, if not ornamental, addition to life 
in older lands. 

During the weeks following the making of the 
League, however, this negative attitude toward 
things religious gave place to one of keen investi- 
gation and criticism. The indifference passed away, 
and with it, in a large measure, the tolerance. Mr. 
Craig was responsible for the former of these 
changes, but hardly, in fairness, could he be held 
responsible for the latter. If any one, more than 
another, was to be blamed for the rise of intoler- 
ance in the village, that man was Geordie Craw- 
ford. He had his ‘lines' from the Established Kirk 
of Scotland, and when Mr. Craig announced his in- 
tention of having the Sacrament of the Lord’s Sup- 
per observed, Geordie produced his ‘ lines ’ and 
promptly handed them in. As no other man in the 
village was equipped with like spiritual credentials, 
Geordie constituted himself a kind of kirk-session, 
charged with the double duty of guarding the en- 
trance to the Lord’s Table, and of keeping an eye 
upon the theological opinions of the community, 
and more particularly upon such members of it as 
gave evidence of possessing any opinions definite 
enough for statement. 


123 


Black Rock Religion 

It came to be Mr. Craig’s habit to drop into the 
League-room, and toward the close of the evening 
to have a short Scripture lesson from the Gospels. 
Geordie’s opportunity came after the meeting was 
over and Mr. Craig had gone away. The men 
would hang about and talk the lesson over, ex* 
pressing opinions favourable or unfavourable as ap- 
peared to them good. Then it was that all sorts of 
views, religious and otherwise, were aired and ex- 
amined. The originality of the ideas, the absolute 
disregard of the authority of church or creed, the 
frankness with which opinions were stated, and the 
forcefulness of the language in which they were ex- 
pressed, combined to make the discussions altogether 
marvellous. The passage between Abe Baker, the 
stage-driver, and Geordie was particularly rich. It 
followed upon a very telling lesson on the parable 
of the Pharisee and the Publican. 

The chief actors in that wonderful story were 
transferred to the Black Rock stage, and were pre- 
sented in miner’s costume. Abe was particularly 
well pleased with the scoring of the ' blanked old 
rooster who crowed so blanked high,’ and some- 
what incensed at the quiet remark interjected by 
Geordie, * that it was nae credit till a man tae be a 
sinner'; and when Geordie went on to urge the 


124 


Black Rock 


importance of right conduct and respectability, Abe 
was led to pour forth vials of contemptuous wrath 
upon the Pharisees and hypocrites who thought 
themselves better than other people. But Geordie 
was quite unruffled, and lamented the ignorance of 
men who, brought up in ‘ Epeescopawlyun or 
Methody’ churches, could hardly be expected to 
detect the Antinomian or Arminian heresies. 

‘Aunty Nomyun or Uncle Nomyun,’ replied 
Abe, boiling hot, ‘my mother was a Methodist, 
and ril back any blanked Methodist against any 
blankety blank long-faced, lantern-jawed, skinflint 
Presbyterian,’ and this he was eager to maintain to 
any man’s satisfaction if he would step outside. 

Geordie was quite unmoved, but hastened to 
assure Abe that he meant no disrespect to his 
mother, who he had ‘ nae doot was a clever enough 
buddie, tae judge by her son.’ Abe was speedily 
appeased, and offered to set up the drinks all round. 
But Geordie, with evident reluctance, had to de- 
cline, saying, ‘Na, na, lad, I’m a League man, ye 
ken,’ and I was sure that Geordie at that moment 
felt that membership in the League had its draw- 
backs. 

Nor was Geordie too sure of Craig’s orthodoxy; 
while as to Mrs. Mavor, whose slave he was, he 


Black Rock Religioa 125 

was in the habit of lamenting her doctrinal condi- 
tion — 

‘She's a fine wumman, nae doot; but, puit 
cratur, she’s fair carried awa wi’ the errors o’ thae 
Epeescopawlyuns.' 

It fell to Geordie, therefore, as a sacred duty, in 
view of the laxity of those who seemed to be the 
pillars of the Church, to be all the more watchful 
and unyielding. But he was delightfully incon- 
sistent when confronted with particulars. In con- 
versation with him one night after one of the meet- 
ings, when he had been specially hard upon the 
ignorant and godless, I innocently changed the sub- 
ject to Billy Breen, whom Geordie had taken to his 
shack since the night of the League. He was very 
proud of Billy’s success in the fight against whisky, 
the credit of which he divided unevenly between 
Mrs. Mavor and himself. 

‘He’s fair daft aboot her,’ he explained to me, 
‘ an' I’ll no' deny but she’s a great help, ay, a verra 
conseederable asseestance; but, man, she doesna 
ken the whusky, an’ the inside o' a man that’s 
wantin' it. Ay, puir buddie, she diz her pairt, an’ 
when ye're a bit restless an' thrawn aifter yer day’s 
wark, it’s like a walk in a bonnie glen on a simmer 
eve. with the birds liltin’ aboot, tae sit in yon 


126 


Black Rock 


roomie and hear her sing; but when the night is on, 
an’ ye canna sleep, but wauken wi’ an’ awfu’ thurst 
and wi’ dreams o’ cosy firesides, and the bonnie 
sparklin’ glosses, as it is wi’ puir Billy, ay, it’s then 
ye need a man wi’ a guid grup beside ye.’ 

‘What do you do then, Geordie?’ 1 asked. 

‘Oo ay, 1 juist gang for a bit walk wi’ the 
lad, and then pits the kettle on an’ maks a cup 
o’ tea or coffee, an’ aff he gangs tae sleep like a 
bairn.' 

‘ Poor Billy,’ I said pityingly, ‘there’s no hope for 
him in the future, 1 fear.’ 

‘Hoot awa, man,’ said Geordie quickly. ‘Ye 
wadna keep oot a puir cratur frae creepin’ in, that’s 
daein’ his best ? ’ 

‘But, Geordie,’ I remonstrated, ‘he doesn’t know 
anything of the doctrines. 1 don’t believe he could 
give us “ The Chief End of Man.” ’ 

‘An’ wha’s tae blame for that?’ said Geordie, 
with fine indignation. ‘ An’ maybe you remember 
the prood Pharisee and the puir wumman that cam’ 
creepin’ in ahint the Maister.’ 

The mingled tenderness and indignation iiv 
Geordie's face were beautiful to see, so I meekly 
answered, ‘Well, I hope Mr. Craig won’t be too 
strict with the boys.’ 


127 


Black Rock Religion 

Geordie shot a suspicious glance at me, but I 
kept my face like a summer morn, and he replied 
cautiously — 

‘Ay, he’s no’ that streect: but he maun exer- 
ceese discreemination.’ 

Geordie was none the less determined, however, 
that Billy should ‘ come forrit ’ ; but as to the man- 
ager, who was a member of the English Church, 
and some others who had been confirmed years 
ago, and had forgotten much and denied more, he 
was extremely doubtful, and expressed himself in 
very decided words to the minister — 

‘Ye’ll no’ be askin’ forrit thae Epeescopawlyun 
buddies. They juist ken naething ava.’ 

But Mr. Craig looked at him for a moment and 
said, ‘ “ Him that cometh unto Me 1 will in no wise 
cast out,”’ and Geordie was silent, though he con- 
tinued doubtful. 

With all these somewhat fantastic features, how- 
ever, there was no mistaking the earnest spirit of 
the men. The meetings grew larger every night, 
and the interest became more intense. The singing 
became different. The men no longer simply 
shouted, but as Mr. Craig would call attention to 
the sentiment of the hymn, the voices would attune 
themselves to the words. Instead of encouraging 


128 Black Rock 

anything like emotional excitement, Mr. Craig 
seemed to fear it. 

‘These chaps are easily stirred up,’ he would say, 
‘ and I am anxious that they should know exactly 
what they are doing. It is far too serious a busi- 
ness to trifle with.’ 

Although Graeme did not go downstairs to the 
meetings, he could not but feel the throb of the 
emotion beating in the heart of the community. I 
used to detail for his benefit, and sometimes for his 
amusement, the incidents of each night. But I 
never felt quite easy in dwelling upon the humor- 
ous features in Mrs. Mayor’s presence, although 
Craig did not appear to mind. His manner with 
Graeme was perfect. Openly anxious to win him 
to his side, he did not improve the occasion and 
vex him with exhortation. He would not take him 
at a disadvantage, though, as I afterward found, 
this was not his sole reason for his iiacthod. ♦ Mrs. 
Mavor, too, showed herself in wise and tender 
light. She might have been his sister, so frank was 
she and so openly affectionate, laughing at his fret- 
fulness and soothing his weariness. 

Never were better comrades than we four, and 
the bright days speeding so swiftly on drew us 
nearer to one another. 


129 


Black Rock Religion 

But the bright days came to an end; for Graeme^ 
when once he was able to go about, became anx- 
ious to get back to the camp. And so the last day 
came, a day I remember well. It was a bright^ 
crisp winter day. 

The air was shimmering in the frosty light. The 
mountains, with their shining heads piercing 
through light clouds into that wonderful blue of 
the v/estern sky, and their feet pushed into the pine 
masses, gazed down upon Black Rock with calm, 
kindly looks on their old grey faces. How one 
grows to love them, steadfast old friends! Far up 
among the pines we could see the smoke of the 
engine at the works, and so still and so clear was 
the mountain air that we could hear the puff ot the 
steam, and from far down the river the murmur of 
the rapids. The majestic silence, the tender beauty, 
the peace, the loneliness, too, came stealing in upon 
us, as we three, leaving Mrs. Mavor behind us, 
marched arm-in-arm down the street. We had 
not gone far on our way, when Graeme, turning 
round, stood a moment looking back, then waved 
his hand in farewell. Mrs. Mavor was at her win- 
dow, smiling and waving in return. They had 
grown to be great friends these two; and seemed 
to have arrived at some understanding. Certainly, 


130 


Black Rock 


Graeme’s manner to her was not that he bore to 
other women. His half-quizzical, somewhat su- 
perior air of mocking devotion gave place to a sim- 
ple, earnest, almost tender, respect, very new to 
him, but very winning. 

As he stood there waving his farewell, I glanced 
at his face and saw for a moment what I had not 
seen for years, a faint flush on Graeme’s cheek and 
a light of simple, earnest faith in his eyes. It 
reminded me of my first look of him when he had 
come up for his matriculation to the 'Varsity. He 
stood on the campus looking up at the noble old 
pile, and there was the same bright, trustful, earnest 
look on his boyish face. 

I know not what spirit possessed me; it may 
have been the pain of the memory working 
in me, but I said, coarsely enough, Hfs no use, 
Graeme, my boy; I would fall in love with her 
myself, but there would be no chance even for 
me.’ 

The flush slowly darkened as he turned and said 
deliberately — 

Mfs not like you, Connor, to be an ass of that 
peculiar kind. Love!— not exactly! She won’t fall 
in love unless—’ and he stopped abruptly with his 
eyes upon Craig. 


Black Rock Religion 

But Craig met him with unshrinking gaze, 
quietlyremarking, ‘Her heart is under the pines;* 
and we moved on, each thinking his own 
thoughts, and guessing at the thoughts of the 
others. 

We were on our way to Craig’s shack, and as we 
passed the saloon Slavin stepped from the door with 
a salutation. Graeme paused. ‘ Hello, Slavin ! I got 
rather the worst of it, didn’t I ? ’ 

Slavin came near, and said earnestly, ‘ It was a 
dirty thrick altogether; you’ll not think it was 
moine, Mr. Graeme.’ 

‘No, no, Slavin! you stood up like a man,' said 
Graeme cheerfully. 

‘And you bate me fair; an’ bedad it was a nate 
one that laid me out; an’ there’s no grudge in me 
heart till ye.* 

‘ All right, Slavin ; we’ll perhaps understand each 
other better after this.' 

‘ An’ that’s thrue for yez, sor; an’ I’ll see that your 
byes don’t get any more than they ask for,’ replied 
Slavin, backing away. 

‘And I hope that won’t be much,’ put in Mr. 
Craig; but Slavin only grinned. 

When we came to Craig’s shack Graeme was glad 
to rest in the big chair. 


Black Rock 


132 

Craig made him a cup of tea, while I smoked, 
admiring much the deft neatness of the minister’s 
housekeeping, and the gentle, almost motherly, way 
he had with Graeme. 

In our talk we drifted into the future, and Craig 
let us see what were his ambitions. The railv/ay 
was soon to come; the resources were, as yet, un- 
explored, but enough was known to assure a great 
future for British Columbia. As he talked his 
enthusiasm grew, and carried us away. With 
the eye of a general he surveyed the country, fixed 
the strategic points which the Church must seize 
upon. Eight good men would hold the country 
from Fort Steele to the coast, and from Kootenay to 
Cariboo. 

‘The Church must be in with the railway; she 
must have a hand In the shaping of the country. If 
society crystallises without her influence, the country 
is lost, and British Columbia will be another trap- 
door to the bottomless pit.’ 

‘ What do you propose ? ’ I asked. 

‘Organising a little congregation here in Black 
Rock.’ 

‘ How many will you get r 

‘Don’t know.’ 

‘Pretty hopeless business,’ I said. 


Black Rock Religion 133 

Hopeless! hopeless!' he cried; 'there were only 
twelve of us at first to follow Him, and rather a poor 
lot they were. But He braced them up, and they 
conquered the world.’ 

‘ But surely things are different,’ said Graeme. 

'Things.?^ Yes! yes! But He is the same.’ His 
face had an exalted look, and his eyes were gazing 
into far-away places. 

‘ A dozen men in Black Rock with some real grip 
of Him would make things go. We’ll get them, 
too,' he went on in growing excitement. ‘ I believe 
in my soul we’ll get them.’ 

‘Look here, Craig; if you organise I’d like to 
join,’ said Graeme impulsively. ‘1 don’t believe 
much in your creed or your Church, but I’ll be 
blowed if 1 don’t believe in you.' 

Craig looked at him with wistful eyes, and shook 
his head. ‘It won’t do, old chap, you know. I 
can’t hold you. You’ve got to have a grip of 
some one better than I am; and then, besides, I 
hardly like asking you now ; ’ he hesitated — ‘ well, 
to be out-and-out, this step must be taken not 
for my sake, nor for any man’s sake, and 1 fancy 
that perhaps you feel like pleasing me just now a 
little.' 

‘That I do, old fellow,’ said Graeme, putting out 


134 Black Rock 

his hand. ‘VW be hanged if I won’t do anything 
you say.’ 

‘That’s why I won’t say/ replied Craig. Then 
reverently he added, ‘ The organisation is not mine. 
It is my Master’s.’ 

‘ When are you going to begin ? ’ asked Graeme. 

‘We shall have our communion service in two 
weeks, and that will be our roll-call.’ 

‘ How many will answer ?’ I asked doubtfully. 

‘I know of three,’ he said quietly. 

‘Three! There are two hundred miners and one 
hundred and fifty lumbermen ! Three ! ’ and Graeme 
looked at him in amazement. ‘ You think it worth 
while to organise three ? ’ 

‘Well,’ replied Craig, smiling for the first time, 

‘ the organisation won’t be elaborate, but it will be 
effective, and, besides, loyalty demands obedience.’ 

We sat long that afternoon talking, shrinking 
from the breaking up; for we knew that we were 
about to turn down a chapter in our lives which we 
should delight to linger over in after days. And in 
my life there is but one brighter. At last we said 
good-bye and drove away; and though many fare- 
wells have come in between that day and this, none 
is so vividly present to me as that between us three 
men. Craig’s manner with me was solemn enough. 


135 


Black Rock Religion 

***He that loveth his life"; good-bye, don’t fool 
with this,’ was what he said to me. But when he 
turned to Graeme his whole face lit up. He took 
him by the shoulders and gave him a little shake, 
looking into his eyes, and saying over and over in 
a low, sweet tone — 

‘You'll come, old chap, you’ll come, you’ll come. 
Tell me you’ll come.’ 

And Graeme could say nothing in reply, but only 
looked at him. Then they silently shook hands, 
and we drove off. But long after we had got over 
the mountain and into the winding forest road on 
the way to the lumber-camp the voice kept vibrat- 
ing in my heart, ‘You’ll come, you’ll come,* and 
there was a hot pain in my throat. 

We said little during the drive to the camp. 
Graeme was thinking hard, and made no answer 
when I spoke to him two or three times, till we 
came to the deep shadows of the pine forest, when 
with a little shiver he said — 

‘It is all a tangle — a hopeless tangle.* 

‘Meaning what?’ I asked. 

‘This business of religion — what quaint varieties 
— Nelson’s, Geordie’s, Billy Breen’s — if he has any 
—then Mrs. Mavor’s— she is a saint, of course— and 
that fellow Craig’s. What a trump he is!— and 


136 


Black Rock 


without his religion he’d be pretty much like the 
rest of us. It is too much for me.' 

His mystery was not mine. The Black Rock va- 
rieties of religion were certainly startling; but there 
was undoubtedly the streak of reality through them 
all, and that discovery I felt to be a distinct gain. 


The First Black Rock Communion 


»37 



CHAPTER VII 


THE FIRST BLACK ROCK COMMUNION 

The gleam of the great fire through the windows 
of the great camp gave a kindly welcome as we 
drove into the clearing in which the shanties stood. 
Graeme was greatly touched at his enthusiastic wel- 
come by the men. At the supper-table he made a 
little speech of thanks for their faithfulness during 
his absence, .specially commending the care and 
efficiency of Mr. Nelson, who had had charge of the 
camp. The men cheered wildly, Baptiste’s shrill 
voice leading all. Nelson being called upon, ex- 
pressed in a few words his pleasure at seeing the 
Boss back, and thanked the men for their support 
while he had been in charge. 

The men were for making a night of it; but fear- 
ing the effect upon Graeme, I spoke to Nelson, who 
passed the word, and in a short time the camp was 
quiet. As we sauntered from the grub-camp to the 
office where was our bed, we paused to take in the 
beauty of the night. The moon rode high over the 
peaks of the mountains, flooding the narrow valley 
5*39 


140 


Black Rock 


with mellow light. Under her magic the rugged 
peaks softened their harsh lines and seemed to lean 
lovingly toward us. The dark pine masses stood 
silent as in breathless adoration ; the dazzling snow 
lay like a garment over all the open spaces in soft 
waving folds, and crowned every stump with a 
quaintly shaped nightcap. Above the camps the 
smoke curled up from the camp-fires, standing like 
pillars of cloud that kept watch while men slept. 
And high over all the deep blue night sky, with its 
star jewels, sprang like the roof of a great cathedral 
from range to range, covering us in its kindly 
shelter. How homelike and safe seemed the valley 
with its mountain-sides, its sentinel trees and arch- 
ing roof of jewelled sky! Even the night seemed 
kindly, and friendly the stars; and the lone cry of 
the wolf from the deep forest seemed like the voice 
of a comrade. 

‘How beautiful! too beautiful!* said Graeme 
stretching out his arms. ‘ A night like this takes 
the heart out of me.* 

I stood silent, drinking in at every sense the night 
with its wealth of loveliness. 

‘ What is it I want ? ’ he went on. ‘ Why does 
the night make my heart ache ? There are things 
to see and things to hear just beyond me; 1 cannot 


The First Black Rock Communion 141 

get to them.' The gay, careless look was gone 
from his face, his dark eyes were v>^istful with 
yearning. 

‘ I often wonder if life has nothing better for me,’ 
he continued with his heartache voice. 

I said no word, but put my arm within his. A 
light appeared in the stable. Glad of a diversion, I 
said, ‘ What is the light ? Let us go and see.' 

‘ Sandy, taking a last look at his team, like 
enough.' 

We walked slowly toward the stable, speaking 
no word. As we neared the door we heard the 
sound of a voice in the monotone of one reading. 
1 stepped forward and looked through a chink be- 
tween the logs. Graeme Vv'as about to open the 
door, but 1 held up my hand and beckoned him to 
me. In a vacant stall, where was a pile of straw, a 
number of men were grouped. Sandy, leaning 
against the tying-post upon which the stable-lan- 
tern hung, was reading; Nelson was kneeling in 
front of him and gazing into the gloom beyond; 
Baptiste lay upon his stomach, his chin in his hands 
and his upturned eyes fastened upon Sandy’s face; 
Lachlan Campbell sat with his hands clasped about 
his knees, and two other men sat near him. Sandy 
v/as reading the undying story of the Prodigal, 


142 


Black Rock 


Nelson now and then stopping him to make a re* 
mark. It was a scene I have never been able to for- 
get. To-day I pause in my tale, and see it as clearly 
as when I looked through the chink upon it years 
ago. The long, low stable, with log walls and up- 
right hitching-poles; the dim outlines of the horses 
in the gloom of the background, and the little group 
of rough, almost savage-looking men, with faces 
wondering and reverent, lit by the misty light of 
the stable-lantern. 

After the reading, Sandy handed the book to 
Nelson, who put it in his pocket, saying, * That’s 
for us, boys, ain't it?’ 

‘Ay,’ said Lachlan; ‘it is often that has been read 
in my hearing, but I am afraid it will not be for me 
whatever,’ and he swayed himself slightly as he 
spoke, and his voice was full of pain. 

‘ The minister said I might come,’ said old Nelson, 
earnestly and hopefully. 

‘ Ay, but you are not Lachlan Campbell, and you 
hef not had his privileges. My father was a godly 
elder in the Free Church of Scotland, and never a 
night or morning but we took the Books.’ 

‘Yes, but He said “ any man,” ' persisted Nelson, 
putting his hand on Lachlan’s knee. But Lachlan 
shook his head. 


The First Black Rock Communion 143 

*Dat young feller/ said Baptiste; ^ wha’s hees 
nem, heh?' 

‘ He has no name. It is just a parable/ explained 
Sandy. 

‘ He's got no nem ? He's just a parom’ble ? Das 
no young feller?' asked Baptiste anxiously; ‘das 
mean noting ? ' 

Then Nelson took him in hand and explained to 
him the meaning, while Baptiste listened even moie 
eagerly, ejaculating softly, ‘ah, voila! bon! by gar!' 
When Nelson had finished he broke out, ‘Dat young 
feller, his name Baptiste, heh? and de old Fadder 
he's le bon Dieu ? Bon! das good story for me. 
How you go back ? You go to de pries’ ? ' 

‘ The book doesn’t say priest or any one else,' said 
Nelson. ‘ You go back in yourself, you see ?’ 

‘ Non ; das so, sure nuff. Ah ! ’ — as if a light 
broke in upon him — ‘you go in your own self. 
You make one leetle prayer. You say, “Le bon 
Fadder, oh ! I want come back, 1 so tire, so hongree, 
so sorree”? He say, “Come right ’long.' Ah! 
das fuss-rate. Nelson, you make one leetle prayer 
for Sandy and me.' 

And Nelson lifted up his face and said: ‘ Father, 
we're all gone far away; we have spent all, we are 
poor, we are tired of it all; we want to feel differ- 


144 


Black Rock 


ent, to be different; we wan^ to come back. Jesus 
came to save us from our sins; and He said if we 
came He wouldn’t cast us out, no matter how bad 
we were, if we only came to Him. Oh, Jesus 
Christ ’ — and his old, iron face began to work, and 
two big tears slowly came from under his eyelids — 
‘ we are a poor lot, and I’m the worst of the lot, 
and we are trying to find the way. Show us how 
to get back. Amen.’ 

‘Bonl’ said Baptiste. *Das fetch Him surel’ 

Graeme pulled me away, and without a word we 
went into the office and drew up to the little stove. 
Graeme was greatly moved. 

‘ Did you ever see anything like that ?’ he asked. 
‘Old Nelson! the hardest, savagest, toughest old 
sinner in the camp, on his knees before a lot of 
men!’ 

‘Before God,’ I could not help saying, for the 
thing seemed very real to me. The old man evi- 
dently felt himself talking to some one. 

‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ said Graeme doubt- 
fully; ‘but there’s a lot of stuff I can’t swallow.’ 

* When you take medicine you don’t swallow the 
bottle,’ I replied, for his trouble was not mine. 

‘If I were sure of the medicine, I wouldn’t mind 
the bottle, and yet it acts w'ell enough.’ he went on. 


The First Black Rock Communion 145 

* I don't mind Lachlan; he’s a Highland mystic, and 
has visions, and Sandy’s almost as bad, and Baptiste 
is an impulsive little chap. Those don’t count 
much. But old man Nelson is a cool-blooded, level- 
headed old fellow; has seen a lot of life, too. And 
then there's Craig. He has a better head than I 
have, and is as hot-blooded, and yet he is living and 
slaving away in that hole, and really enjoys it. 
There must be something in it.' 

*Oh, look here, Graeme,' 1 burst out impatiently; 
‘what’s the use of your talking like that? Of 
course there’s something in it. There's everything^ 
in it. The trouble with me is I can’t face the music. 
It calls for a life where a fellow must go in for 
straight, steady work, self-denial, and that sort of 
thing; and I’m too Bohemian for that, and too lazy. 
But that fellow Craig makes one feel horribly un- 
comfortable.’ 

Graeme put his head on one side, and examined 
me curiously. 

‘1 believe you’re right about yourself. You al- 
ways were a luxurious beggar. But that’s not 
where it catches me.’ 

We sat and smoked and talked of other things 
for an hour, and then turned in. As I was dropping 
i was roused by Graeme’s voice — 


146 Black Rock 

* Are you going to the preparatory service on Fri- 
day night ? ’ 

‘Don’t know,’ I replied rather sleepily. 

‘ 1 say, do you remember the preparatory service 
at home?' There was something in his voice that 
set me wide awake. 

‘Yes. Rather terrific, wasn’t it? But 1 always 
felt better after it,’ 1 replied. 

‘To me’ — he was sitting up in bed now — ‘to me 
it was like a call to arms, or rather like a call for a 
forlorn hope. None but volunteers wanted. Do 
you remember the thrill in the oid governor’s voice 
as he dared any but the right stuff to come on ? ’ 

‘We’ll go in on Friday night,’ 1 said. 

And so we did. Sandy took a load of men with 
his team, and Graeme and 1 drove in the light sleigh. 

The meeting was in the church, and over a hun- 
dred men were present. There was some singing 
of familiar hymns at first, and then Mr. Craig read 
the same story as we had heard in the stable, that 
most perfect of all parables, the Prodigal Son. Bap- 
tiste nudged Sandy in delight, and whispered some- 
thing, but Sandy held his face so absolutely expres- 
sionless that Graeme was moved to say — 

‘ Look at Sandy I Did you ever see such a graven 
image ? Something has hit him hard.’ 


The First Black Rock Communion 147 

The men \\'cre held fast Dy the story. The voice 
of the reader, low, earnest, and thrilling with the 
tender pathos of the tale, carried the words to our 
hearts, while a glance, a gesture, a movement of 
the body gave us the vision of it all as he was see- 
ing it. 

Then, in simplest of words, he told us what the 
story meant, holding us the while with eyes, and 
voice, and gesture. He compelled us to scorn the 
gay, heartless selfishness of the young fool setting 
forth so jauntily from the broken home; he moved 
our pity and our sympathy for the young profligate, 
who, broken and deserted, had still pluck enough to 
determine to work his way back, and who, in utter 
desperation, at last gave it up ; and then he showed 
us the home-coming — the ragged, heart-sick tramp, 
with hesitating steps, stumbling along the dusty 
road, and then the rush of the old father, his gar- 
ments fluttering, and his voice heard in broken 
cries. 1 see and hear it all now, whenever the 
words are read. 

He announced the hymn, 'Just as I am,' read the 
first verse, and then went on: ‘ There you are, men, 
every man of you, somewhere on the road. Some 
of you are too lazy’— here Graeme nudged me— 
‘and some of you haven’t got enough yet of the 


148 


Black Rock 


far country to come back. May there be a chance 
for you when you want to cornel Men, you all 
want to go back home, and when you go you’ll 
want to put on your soft clothes, and you won’t go 
till you can go in good style; but where did the 
prodigal get his good clothes?' Quick came the 
answer in Baptiste’s shrill voice — 

' From de old fadder! ’ 

No one was surprised, and the minister went 
on — 

‘Yes! and that’s where we must get the good, 
clean heart, the good, clean, brave heart, from our 
Father. Don’t wait, but, just as you are, come. 
Sing.’ 

They sang, not loud, as they would ‘Stand Up,’ 
or even ‘The Sweet By and By,’ but in voices sub- 
dued, holding down the power in them. 

After the singing, Craig stood a moment gazing 
down at the men, and then said quietly — 

‘ Any man want to come ? You all might come. 
We all must come.’ Then, sweeping his arm over 
the audience, and turning half round as if to move 
off, he cried, in a voice that thrilled to the heart’s 
core — 

‘Oht come on! Let’s go back! ’ 

The effect was overpowering. It seemed to me 


The First Black Rock Communion 149 

that the whole company half rose to their feet. 
Of the prayer that immediately followed, I only 
caught the opening sentence, ' Father, we are com- 
ing back,' for my attention was suddenly absorbed 
by Abe, the stage-driver, who was sitting next me. 
I could hear him swearing approval and admira- 
tion, saying to himself — 

'Ain't he a clinker! I'll be gee-whizzly-gol- 
dusted if he ain't a malleable-iron-double-back- 
action self-adjusting corn-cracker.' And the prayer 
continued to be punctuated with like admiring and 
even more sulphurous expletives. It was an incon- 
gruous medley. The earnest, reverent prayer, and 
the earnest, admiring profanity, rendered chaotic 
one's ideas of religious propriety. The feelings in 
both were akin; the method of expression some- 
what widely diverse. 

After prayer, Craig's tone changed utterly. In a 
quiet, matter-of-fact, businesslike way he stated 
his plan of organisation, and called for all who 
wished to join to remain after the benediction. 
Some fifty men were left, among them Nelson, 
Sandy, Lachlan Campbell, Baptiste, Shaw, Nixon, 
Geordie, and Billy Breen, who tried to get out, but 
was held fast by Geordie. 

Graeme was passing out, but I signed him to re* 


Black Rock 


150 

main, saying that I wished ' to see the thing out/ 
Abe sat still beside me, swearing disgustedly at the 
fellows ‘who were going back on the preacher.’ 
Craig appeared amazed at the number of men re- 
maining, and seemed to fear that something was 
wrong. He put before them the terms of disciple- 
ship, as the Master put them to the eager scribe, 
and he did not make them easy. He pictured the 
kind of work to be done, and the kind of men 
needed for the doing of it. Abe grew uneasy as 
the minister weo^ on to describe the completeness 
of the surrender, the intensity of the loyalty de- 
manded. 

‘That knocks me out, I reckon,’ he muttered, in 
a disappointed tone; ‘I ain’t up to that grade.’ And 
as Craig described the heroism called for, the mag- 
nificence of the fight, the worth of it, and the out- 
come of it all, Abe ground out: ‘I’ll be blanked if I 
wouldn’t like to take a hand, but I guess I’m not in 
it.’ Craig finished by saying — 

‘ I want to put this quite fairly. It is not any 
league of mine; you’re not joining my company; it 
is no easy business, and it is for your whole life. 
What do you say? Do I put it fairly? What do 
you say. Nelson ? ’ 

Nelson rose slowly, and with difficulty began — 


The First Black Hock Communion 151 

‘ I may be all wrong, but you made it easier for 
me, Mr. Craig. You said He would see me through, 
or I should never have risked it. Perhaps I am 
wrong,' and the old man looked troubled. Craig 
sprang up. 

‘No! no! Thank God, no! He will see every 
man through who will trust his life to Him. Every 
man, no matter how tough he is, no matter how 
broken.’ 

Then Nelson straightened himself up and said — 

‘Well, sir! I believe a lot of the men would go 
in for this if they were dead sure they would get 
through.' 

‘Get through!' said Craig; ‘never a fear of it. 
It is a hard fight, a long fight, a glorious fight,’ 
throwing up his head, ‘but every man who squarely 
trusts Him, and takes Him as Lord and Master, 
comes out victor! ’ 

‘Bon! 'said Baptiste. ‘Das me. You tink He s 
take me in dat fight, M'sieu Craig, heh ? ' His eyes 
were blazing. 

‘ You mean it ? ’ asked Craig almost sternly. 

‘ Yes! by gar! ’ said the little Frenchman eagerly. 

‘Hear what He says then;’ and Craig, turning 
over the leaves of his Testament, read solemnly the 
words, ‘ Swear not at alL^ 


152 


Black Rock 


*Non! For sure! Den I stop him/ replied 
Baptiste earnestly, and Craig wrote his name 
down. 

Poor Abe looked amazed and distressed, rose 
slowly, and saying, 'That jars my whisky jug,’ 
passed out. There was a slight movement near the 
organ, and glancing up I saw Mrs. Mavor put her 
face hastily in her hands. The men’s faces were 
anxious and troubled, and Nelson said in a voice 
that broke — 

'Tell them what you told me, sir.' But Craig 
was troubled too, and replied, 'You tell them, Nel- 
son!’ and Nelson told the men the story of how he 
began just five weeks ago. The old man's voice 
steadied as he went on, and he grew eager as he 
told how he had been helped, and how the world 
was all different, and his heart seemed new. He 
spoke of his Friend as if He were some one that 
could be seen out at camp, that he knew well, and 
met every day. 

But as he tried to say how deeply he regretted 
that he had not known all this years before, the old, 
hard face began to quiver, and the steady voice 
wavered. Then he pulled himself together, and 
said — 

' 1 begin to feel sure He’ll pull me through — me! 


The First Black Rock Communion 153 

the hardest man in the mountains 1 So don’t you 
fear, boys. He’s all right.’ 

Then the men gave in their names, one by one. 
When it came to Geordie’s turn, he gave his 
name — 

‘George Crawford, frae the pairish o’ Kilsyth, 
Scotland, an’ ye’ll juist pit doori the lad’s name, 
Maister Craig; he’s a wee bit fashed wi’ the dis- 
coorse, but he has the root o’ the maitter in him, I 
doot.* And so Billy Breen’s name went down. 

When the meeting was over, thirty-eight names 
stood upon the communion roll of the Black Rock 
Presbyterian Church ; and it will ever be one of the 
regrets of my life that neither Graeme’s name nor 
my own appeared on that roll. And two days 
after, when the cup went round on that first Com- 
munion Sabbath, from Nelson to Sandy, and from 
Sandy to Baptiste, and so on down the line to Billy 
Breen and Mrs. Mavor, and then to Abe, the driver, 
whom she had by her own mystic power lifted into 
hope and faith, I felt all the shame and pain of a 
traitor; and I believe in my heart that the fire of 
that pain and shame burned something of the sel- 
fish cowardice out of me, and that it is burning 
still. 

The last words of the minister, in the short ad- 


154 


Black Rock 


dress after the table had been served, were low, and 
sweet, and tender, but they were words of high 
courage; and before he had spoken them all, the 
men were listening with shining eyes, and when 
they rose to sing the closing hymn they stood 
straight and stiff like soldiers on parade. 

And 1 wished more than ever 1 were one of 
them. 


The Breaking of the League 




t 


I 


V 


4 t 


r* T I 

S \ / 











» 


I 

^ . 



I 





s -* 



t 


CHAPTER Vm 


THE BREAKING OF THE LEAGUE 

There is no doubt in my mind that nature de- 
signed me for a great painter. A railway director 
interfered with that design of nature, as he has with 
many another of hers, and by the transmission of an 
order for mountain pieces by the dozen, together 
with a cheque so large that I feared there was some' 
mistake, he determined me to be an illustrator and 
designer for railway and like publications. 1 do 
not like these people ordering ‘by the dozen.' 
Why should they not consider an artist’s finer feel- 
ings ? Perhaps they cannot understand them ; but 
they understand my pictures, and 1 understand their 
cheques, and there we are quits. But so it came 
that 1 remained in Black Rock long enough to wit- 
ness the breaking of the League. 

Looking back upon the events of that night from 
the midst of gentle and decent surroundings, they 
now seem strangely unreal, but to me then they ap- 
peared only natural. 

It was the Good Friday ball that wrecked the 
*57 


158 


BlacV Rock 


League. For the fact that the promoters of the ball 
determined that it should be a ball rather than a 
dance was taken by the League men as a concession 
to the new public opinion in favour of respectability 
created by the League. And when the manager’s 
patronage had been secured (they failed to get Mrs. 
Mayor’s), and it Vi^as further announced that, though 
held in the Black Rock Hotel ball-room — indeed, 
there was no other place — refreshments suited to 
the peculiar tastes of League men would be pro- 
vided, it was felt to be almost a necessity that the 
League should approve, should indeed welcome, 
this concession to the public opinion in favour of 
respectability created by the League. 

There were extreme men on both sides, of course. 
‘Idaho’ Jack, professional gambler, for instance, 
frankly considered that the whole town was going 
to unmentionable depths of propriety. The organ- 
isation of the League was regarded by him, and by 
many others, as a sad retrograde toward the bond- 
age of the ancient and dying East; and that he could 
not get drunk when and where he pleased, ‘ Idaho,’ 
as he was called, regarded as a personal grievance. 

But Idaho was never enamoured of the social 
ways of Black Rock. He was shocked and dis- 
gusted when he discovered that a ‘ gun ’ was de- 


The Breaking of the League 159 

creed by British law to be an unnecessary adorn- 
ment of a card-table. The manner of his discovery 
must have been interesting to behold. 

It is said that Idaho was industriously pursuing 
his avocation in Slavin’s, with his ‘ gun ’ lying upon 
the card-table convenient to his hand, when in 
walked policeman Jackson, her Majesty’s sole repre- 
sentative in the Black Rock district. Jackson, 
* Stonewall Jackson, or ‘Stonewall,’ as he was 
called for obvious reasons, after watching the game 
for a few moments, gently tapped the pistol and 
asked what he used this for. 

‘ ril show you in two holy minutes if you don’t 
light out,’ said Idaho, hardly looking up, but very 
angrily, for the luck was against him. But Jackson 
tapped upon the table and said sweetly — 

‘You’re a stranger here. You ought to get a 
guide-book and post yourself. Now, the boys 
know I don't interfere with an innocent little game, 
but there is a regulation against playing it with 
guns; so,’ he added even more sweetly, but fasten- 
ing Idaho with a look from his steel-grey eyes, ‘I’ll 
just take charge of this,’ picking up the revolver; 
‘it might go off.' 

Idaho’s rage, great as it was, was quite swallowed 
up in his amazed disgust at the state of society that 


i6o 


Black Rock 


would permit, such an outrage upon personal libw 
erty. He was quite unable to play any more that 
evening, and it took several drinks all round to re- 
store him to articulate speech. The rest of the 
night was spent in retaining for his instruction 
stories of the ways of Stonewall Jackson. 

Idaho bought a new ‘ gun,' but he wore it ‘ in his 
clothes,' and used it chiefly in the pastime of shoot- 
ing out the lights or in picking off the heels from 
the boys' boots while a stag dance was in progress 
in Slavin's. But in Stonewall’s presence Idaho was 
a most correct citizen. Stonewall he could under- 
stand and appreciate. He was six feet three, and 
had an eye of unpleasant penetration. But this 
new feeling in the community for respectability he 
could neither understand nor endure. The League 
became the object of his indignant aversion, and the 
League men of his contempt. He had many sym- 
pathisers, and frequent were the assaults upon the 
newly-born sobriety of Billy Breen and others of 
the League. But Geordie’s watchful care and Mrs. 
Mavor's steady influence, together with the loyal 
co-operation of the League men, kept Billy safe so 
far. Nixon, too, was a marked man. It may be 
that he carried himself with unnecessary jauntiness 
toward Slavin and Idaho, saluting the former with. 


The Breaking of the League i6i 

‘Awful dry weather 1 en, Slavin?' and the latter 
with, ‘Hello, old sport! how’s times?' causing 
them to swear deeply ; and, as it turned out, to do 
more than swear. 

But on the whole the anti-League men were in 
favour of a respectable ball, and most of the League 
men determined to show their appreciation of the 
concession of the committee to the principles of the 
League in the important matter of refreshments by 
attending in force. 

Nixon would not go. However jauntily he might 
talk, he could not trust himself, as he said, where 
whisky was flowing, for it got into his nose ‘ like a 
fish-hook into a salmon.’ He was from Nova 
Scotia. For like reason, Vernon Winton, the young 
Oxford fellow, would not go. When they chaffed, 
his lips grew a little thinner, and the colour deep- 
ened in his handsome face, but he went on his way. 
Geordie despised the ‘hale hypothick’ as a ‘daft 
ploy,' and the spending of five dollars upon a ticket 
he considered a ‘ sinfu’ waste o’ guid siller'; and ho 
warned Billy against ‘ coontenancin' ony sic re- 
deeklus nonsense.’ 

But no one expected Billy to go; although the 
last two months he had done wonders for his per- 
sonal appearance, and for his position in the social 


i 62 


Black Rock 


scale as well. They all knew what a fight he was 
making, and esteemed him accordingly. How well 
1 remember the pleased pride in his face when he 
told me in the afternoon of the committee's urgent 
request that he should join the orchestra with his 
^cellol It was not simply that his 'cello was his joy 
and pride, but he felt it to be a recognition of his 
return to respectability. 

1 have often wondered how things combine at 
times to a man’s destruction. 

Had Mr. Craig not been away at the Landing 
that week, had Geordie not been on the night-shift, 
had Mrs. Mavor not been so occupied with the care 
of her sick child, it may be Billy might have been 
saved his fall. 

The anticipation of the ball stirred Black Rock 
and the camps with a thrill of expectant delight. 
Nowadays, when I find myself forced to leave my 
quiet smoke in my studio after dinner at the call of 
some social engagement which 1 have failed to 
elude, 1 groan at my hard lot, and 1 wonder as I 
look back and remember the pleasurable anticipa- 
tion with which I viewed the approaching ball. But 
I do not wonder now any more than 1 did then at 
the eager delight of the men who for seven days in 
the week swung their picks up in the dark breasts 


The Breaking of the League i6f. 

of the mines, or who chopped and sawed among 
the solitary silences of the great forests. Any 
break in the long and weary monotony was wel- 
come; what mattered the cost or consequence! To 
the rudest and least cultured of them the sameness 
of the life must have been hard to bear; but what 
it was to men who had seen life in its most cul- 
tured and attractive forms I fail to imagine. From. 
the mine, black and foul, to the shack, bare, cheer- 
less, and sometimes hideously repulsive, life swung 
in heart-grinding monotony till the longing for a. 
‘ big drink ’ or some other ‘ big break ’ became too 
great to bear. 

It was well on toward evening when Sandy’s 
four-horse team, with a load of men from the' 
woods, came swinging round the curves of the 
mountain-road and down the street. A gay crowd 
they were with their bright, brown faces and 
hearty voices ; and in ten minutes the whole street 
seemed alive with lumbermen — they had a faculty 
of spreading themselves so. After night fell the 
miners came down ‘done up slick,’ for this was a 
great occasion, and they must be up to it. Tho 
manager appeared in evening dress; but this was 
voted ‘ too giddy ’ by the majority. 

As Graeme and I passed up to the Black Rock 


Black Rock 


164 

Hotel, in the large store-room of which the ball 
was to be held, we met old man Nelson looking 
very grave. 

‘ Going, Nelson, aren't you ?' i said. 

‘Yes,’ he answered slowly; ‘ I’ll drop in, though 
I don’t like the look of things much.’ 

‘ What’s the matter. Nelson ? ' asked Graeme 
cheerily. ‘There’s no funeral on.’ 

‘Perhaps not,’ replied Nelson, ‘but I wish Mr. 
Craig v/ere home.’ And then he added, ‘There’s 
Idaho and Slavin together, and you may bet the 
devil isn’t far off.’ 

But Graeme laughed at his suspicion, and we 
passed on. The orchestra was tuning up. There 
were two violins, a concertina, and the ’cello. 
Billy Breen was lovingly fingering his instrument, 
now and then indulging himself in a little snatch 
of some air that came to him out of his happier 
past. He looked perfectly delighted, and as I 
paused to listen he gave me a proud glance out of 
his deep, little, blue eyes, and went on playing 
softly to himself. Presently Shaw came along. 

‘That’s good, Billy,' he called out. ‘You’ve got 
the trick yet, I see.’ 

But Billy only nodded and went on playing. 

‘ Where’s Nixon ? ’ 1 asked. 


The Breaking of the League 165 

‘Gone to bed/ said Shaw, ‘and I am glad of it. 
He finds that the safest place on pay-day afternoon. 
The boys don’t bother him there.’ 

The dancing-room was lined on two sides with 
beer-barrels and whisky-kegs; at one end the 
orchestra sat, at the other was a table with refresh- 
ments, where the ‘soft drinks’ might be had. 
Those who wanted anything else might pass 
through a short passage into the bar just behind. 

This was evidently a superior kind of ball, for the 
men kept on their coats, and went through the 
various figures with faces of unnatural solemnity. 
But the strain upon their feelings was quite ap- 
parent, and it became a question how long it could 
be maintained. As the trips through the passage- 
way became more frequent the dancing grew in 
vigour and hilarity, until by the time supper was 
announced the stiffness had sufficiently vanished 
to give no further anxiety to the committee. 

But the committee had other cause for concern, 
inasmuch as after supper certain of the miners ap- 
peared with their coats off, and proceeded to 
‘knock the knots out of the floor' in break-down 
dances of extraordinary energy. These, however, 
were beguiled into the bar-room and ‘ filled up ’ for 
safety, for the committee were determined that the 


Black Rock 


1 66 

respectability of the ball should be preserved to the 
end. Their reputation was at stake, not in Black 
Rock only, but at the Landing as well, from which 
most of the ladies had come; and to be shamed in 
the presence of the Landing people could not be 
borne. Their difficulties seemed to be increasing, 
for at this point something seemed to go wrong 
with the orchestra. The ’cello appeared to be wan- 
dering aimlessly up and - down the scale, occasion- 
ally picking up the tune with animation, and then 
dropping it. As Billy saw me approaching, he 
drew himself up with great ^^olemnity, gravely 
winked at me, and said — 

‘Shlipped a cog, Misther Connor! Mosh hun- 
fortunate! Beauchiful hinstrument, but shlips a 
cog. Mosh hunfortunate!’ 

And he wagged his little head sagely, playing all 
the while for dear life, now second and now lead. 

Poor Billy! 1 pitied him, but 1 thought chiefly of 
the beautiful, eager face that leaned toward him the 
night the League was made, and of the bright voice 
that said, ‘You’ll sign with me, Billy?’ and it 
seemed to me a cruel deed to make him lose his 
grip of life and hope; for this is what the pledge 
meant to him. 

While 1 was trying to get Billy away to some safe 


The Breaking of the League 167 

place, I heard a great shouting in the direction of 
the bar, followed by trampling and scuffling of feet 
in the passage-way. Suddenly a man burst 
through, crying — 

‘Let me go I Stand back! 1 know what Tm 
about I ’ 

It was Nixon, dressed in his best; black clothes, 
blue shirt, red tie, looking handsome enough, but 
half-drunk and wildly excited. The Highland Fling 
competition was on at the moment, and Angus 
Campbell, Lachlan's brother, was representing the 
lumber camps in the contest. Nixon looked on ap- 
provingly for a few moments, then with a quick 
movement he seized the little Highlander, swung 
.Jm in his powerful arms clean off the floor, and 
deposited him gently upon a beer-barrel. Then he 
stepped into the centre of the room, bowed to the 
judges, and began a sailor’s hornpipe. 

The committee were perplexed, but after deliber- 
ation they decided to humour the new competitor, 
especially as they knew that Nixon with whisky in 
him was unpleasant to cross. 

Lightly and gracefully he went through his steps, 
the men crowding in from the bar to admire, for 
Nixon was famed for his hornpipe. But when, 
after the hornpipe, he proceeded to execute a clog- 


i68 


Black Rock 


dance, garnished with acrobatic feats, thi committee 
interfered. There were cries of ‘ Put him out! ’ and 
‘Let him alone! Go on, Nixon!’ And Nixon 
hurled back into the crowd two of the committee 
who had laid remonstrating hands upon him, and, 
standing in the open centre, cried out scornfully — 

‘Put me out! Put me out! Certainly! Help 
yourselves! Don’t mind me!’ Then grinding 
his teeth, so that 1 heard them across the room, 
he added with savage deliberation, ‘If any man 
lays a finger on me, I’ll — I’ll eat his liver cold.’ 

He stood for a few moments glaring round upon 
the company, and then strode toward the bar, fol- 
lowed by the crowd wildly yelling. The ball was 
forthwith broken up. 1 looked around for Billy, 
but he was nowhere to be seen. Graeme touched 
my arm — 

‘ There’s going to be something of a time, so just 
keep your eyes skinned.’ 

‘ What are you going to do ? ’ I asked. 

‘ Do ? Keep myself beautifully out of trouble, ’ he 
replied. 

In a few moments the crowd came surging 
back headed by Nixon, who was waving a 
whisky-bottle over his head and yelling as one 
possessed. 


The Breaking of the League 169 

‘ Hello! ' exclaimed Graeme softly, * I begin to see. 
Look there 1 ' 

‘ What’s up ? ' I asked. 

‘You see Idaho and Slavin and their pets,' he 
replied. 

‘They’ve got poor Nixon in tow. Idaho is 
rather nasty,’ he added, ‘but 1 think I’ll take a 
hand in this game; I’ve seen some of Idaho’s work 
before.’ 

The scene was one quite strange to me, and was 
wild beyond description. A hundred men filled the 
room. Bottles were passed from hand to hand, and 
men drank their fill. Behind the refreshment-tables 
stood the hotelman and his barkeeper with their 
coats off and sleeves rolled up to the shoulder, pass- 
ing out bottles, and drawing beer and whisky from 
two kegs hoisted up for that purpose. Nixon was 
in his glory. It was his night. Every man was to 
get drunk at his expense, he proclaimed, flinging 
down bills upon the table. Near him were some 
League men he was treating liberally, and never far 
away were Idaho and Slavin passing bottles, but 
evidently drinking little. 

I followed Graeme, not feeling too comfortable, 
for this sort of thing was new to me, but admiring 
the cool assurance with which he made his way 


Black Rock 


170 

through the crowd that swayed and yelled and 
swore and laughed in a most disconcerting 
manner. 

‘Hello!' shouted Nixon as he caught sight of 
Graeme. ‘Here you are!' passing him a bottle. 
‘You’re a knocker, a double-handed front-door 
knocker. You polished off old whisky-soak here, 
old demijohn,' pointing to Slavin, ‘and I’ll lay five 
to one we can lick any blankety blank thieves in the 
crowd,’ and he held up a roll of bills. 

But Graeme proposed that he should give the 
hornpipe again, and the floor was cleared at once, 
for Nixon’s hornpipe was very popular, and to- 
night, of course, was in high favour. In the midst 
of his dance Nixon stopped short, his arms dropped 
to his side, his face had a look of fear, of horror. 

There, before him, in his riding-cloak and boots, 
with his whip in his hand as he had come from his 
ride, stood Mr. Craig. His face was pallid, and his 
dark eyes were blazing with fierce light. As Nixon 
stopped, Craig stepped forward to him, and sweep- 
ing his eyes round upon the circle he said in tones 
intense with scorn — 

‘You cowards! You get a man where he’s 
weak! Cowards! you’d damn his soul for his 
money! ’ 


The Breaking of the League 171 

There was a dead silence, and Craig, lifting his 
hat, said solemnly — 

‘ May God forgive you this night’s work! ’ 

Then, turning to Nixon, and throwing his arm 
over his shoulder, he said in a voice broken and 
husky — 

‘Come on, Nixon! we’ll go! ’ 

Idaho made a motion as if to stop him, but 
Graeme stepped quickly forward and said sharply, 
‘Make way there, can’t you?’ and the crowd fell 
back and we four passed through, Nixon walking 
as in a dream, with Craig’s arm about him. Down 
the street we went in silence, and on to Craig’s 
shack, where we found old man Nelson, with the 
fire blazing, and strong coffee steaming on the stove. 
It was he that had told Craig, on his arrival from 
the Landing, of Nixon’s fall. 

There was nothing of reproach, but only gentlest 
pity, in tone and touch as Craig placed the half- 
drunk, dazed man in his easy-chair, took off his 
boots, brought him his own slippers, and gave him 
coffee. Then, as his stupor began to overcome 
him, Craig put him in his own bed, and came forth 
with a face written over with grief. 

‘Don’t mind, old chap,’ said Graeme kindly. 

But Craig looked at him without a word, and. 


172 


Black Rock 


throwing hnnself into a chair, put his face in his 
hands. As we sat there in silence the door was 
suddenly pushed open and in walked Abe Baker 
with the words, ‘Where is Nixon?' and we told 
him where he was. We were still talking when 
again a tap came to the door, and Shaw came in 
looking much disturbed. 

‘Did you hear about Nixon?’ he asked. We 
told him what we knew. 

‘ But did you hear how they got him ?’ he asked, 
excitedly. 

As he told us the tale, the men stood listening, 
with faces growing hard. 

It appeared that after the making of the League 
the Black Rock Hotel man had bet Idaho one hun- 
dred to fifty that Nixon could not be got to drink 
before Easter. All Idaho’s schemes had failed, and 
now he had only three days in which to win his 
money, and the ball was his last chance. Here 
again he was balked, for Nixon, resisting all en- 
treaties, barred his shack door and went to bed be- 
fore nightfall, according to his invariable custom on 
pay-days. At midnight some of Idaho’s men came 
battering at the door for admission, which Nixon 
reluctantly granted. For half an hour they used 
every art of persuasion to induce him to go down 


The Breaking of the League 173 

to the ball, the glorious success of which was glow- 
ingly depicted; but Nixon remained immovable, 
and they took their departure, baffled and cursing. 
In two hours they returned drunk enough to be 
dangerous, kicked at the door in vain, finally gained 
entrance through the window, hauled Nixon out ol 
bed, and, holding a glass of whisky to his lips, 
bade him drink. But he knocked the glass away, 
spilling the liquor over himself and the bed. 

It was drink or fight, and Nixon was ready to 
fight; but after parley they had a drink all round, 
and fell to persuasion again. The night was cold, 
and poor Nixon sat shivering on the edge of his 
bed. If he would take one drink they would leave 
him alone. He need not show himself so stiff. 
The whisky fumes filled his nostrils. If one drink 
would get them off, surely that was better than 
fighting and killing some one or getting killed. He 
hesitated, yielded, drank his glass. They sat about 
him amiably drinking, and lauding him as a fine 
fellow after all. One more glass before they left. 
Then Nixon rose, dressed himself, drank all that 
was left of the bottle, put his money in his pocket, 
and came down to the dance, wild with his old- 
time madness, reckless of faith and pledge, forget- 
ful of home, wife, babies, his whole being absorbed 


174 


Black Rock 


in one great passion — to drink and drink and drink 
till he could drink no more. 

Before Shaw had finished his tale, Craig’s eyes 
were streaming with tears, and groans of rage and 
pity broke alternately from him. Abe remained 
speechless for a time, not trusting himself; but as 
he heard Craig groan, ‘Oh, the beasts! the fiends!’’ 
he seemed encouraged to let himself loose, and he 
began swearing with the coolest and most blood- 
curdling deliberation. Craig listened with evident 
approval, apparently finding complete satisfaction 
in Abe’s performance, when suddenly he seemed to 
waken up, caught Abe by the arm, and said in a 
horror-stricken voice — 

‘Stop! stop! God forgive us! we must not 
swear like this.’ 

Abe stopped at once, and in a surprised and 
slightly grieved voice said — 

‘Why! whafs the matter with that Ain’t that 
what you wanted ? ' 

‘Yes! yes! God forgive me! I am afraid it 
was,’ he answered hurriedly; ‘but 1 must not’ 

‘Oh, don’t you worry,’ went on Abe cheerfully; 

‘ I'll look after that part; and anyway, ain't they the 
blankest blankety blank’ — going off again into a 
KoW of curses, till Craig, in an agony of entreaty, 


The Breaking of the League 175 

succeeded in arresting the flow of profanity possi- 
ble to no one but a mountain stage-driver. Abe 
paused looking hurt, and asked if they did not 
deserve everything he was calling down upon 
them. 

‘Yes, yes,' urged Craig; ‘but that is not our 
business.’ 

‘Well! so I reckoned,' replied Abe, recognising 
the limitations of the cloth; ‘you ain’t used to it, 
and you can’t be expected to do it; but it just makes 
me feel good — let out o' school like — to properly do 
'em up, the blank, blank,' and off he went again. 
It was only under the pressure of Mr. Craig’s 
prayers and commands that he finally agreed ‘to 
hold in, though it was tough.' 

‘ Whaf s to be done ? ' asked Shaw. 

‘Nothing,’ answered Craig bitterly. He was ex- 
hausted with his long ride from the Landing, and 
broken with bitter disappointment over the ruin of 
all that he had laboured so long to accomplish. 

‘Nonsense,’ said Graeme; ‘there’s a good deal to 
do.' 

It was agreed that Craig should remain with 
Nixon while the others of us should gather up what 
fragments we could find of the broken League. 
We had just opened the door, when we met a man 


lytf Black Rock 

striding up at a great pace. It was Geordie Craw- 
ford. 

‘ Hae ye seen the lad ? ' was his salutation. No 
one replied. So I told Geordie of my last sight of 
Billy in the orchestra. 

' An’ did ye no’ gang aifter him ?’ he asked in in- 
dignant surprise, adding with some contempt, 
‘Man! but ye’re a feckless buddie.’ 

‘ Billy gone too! ' said Shaw. ‘ They might have 
let Billy alone.' 

Poor Craig stood in a dumb agony. Billy’s fall 
seemed more than he could bear. We went out, 
leaving him heart-broken amid the ruins of his 
League. 


The League’s Revenge 


f 








* 




% 



? 1 


f 







f 

' 




s- 



CHAPTER IX 

THE league’s revenge 

As we stood outside of Craig's shack in the dinr 
starlight, we could not hide from ourselves that we 
were beaten. It was not so much grief as a blind 
fury that filled my heart, and looking at the faces of 
the men about me I read the same feeling there. 
But what could we do ? The yells of carousing, 
miners down at Slavin’s told us that nothing could 
be done wiin them that night. To be so utterly 
beaten, and unfairly, and with no chance of re^ 
venge, was maddening. 

‘I’d like to get back at ’em,’ said Abe, carefully 
repressing himself. 

‘I’ve got it, men,' said Graeme suddenly. ‘This 
own does not require all the whisky there is in it; ’ 
and he unfolded his plan. It was to gain posses- 
sion of Slavin’s saloon and the bar of the Black 
Rock Hotel, and clear out all the liquor to be found 
in both these places. I did not much like the idea;, 
and Geordie said, ‘I’m ga’en aifter the lad; I’ll hae 
naethin' tae dae wi’ yon. It’s no’ that easy, an' it’s 
a sinfu’ waste.' 


119 


Black Rock 


180 

But Abe was wild to try it, and Shaw was quite 
willing, while old Nelson sternly approved. 

‘ Nelson, you and Shaw get a couple of our men 
and attend to the saloon. Slavin and the whole 
gang are up at the Black Rock, so you won’t have 
much trouble; but come to us as soon as you can.’ 

And so we went our ways. 

Then followed a scene the like of which I can 
never hope to see again, and it was worth a man’s 
seeing. But there were times that night when I 
wished 1 had not agreed to follow Graeme in his 
plot. 

As we went up to the hotel, 1 asked Graeme, 
" What about the law of this ? ’ 

‘Lawl’ he replied indignantly. ‘They haven't 
troubled much about law in the whisky business 
here. They get a keg of high wines and some 
drugs and begin operations. No! ’ he went on; ‘if 
we can get the crowd out, and ourselves in, we’ll 
make them break the law in getting us out. The 
law won’t trouble us over smuggled whisky. It 
will be a great lark, and they won’t crow too loud 
over the League.’ 

I did not like the undertaking at first; but as I 
thought of the whole wretched illegal business 
flourishing upon the weakness of the men in the 


The League’s Revenge i8i 

mines and camps, whom 1 had learned to regard as 
brothers, and especially as I thought of the cowards 
that did for Nixon, 1 let my scruples go, and de- 
termined, with Abe, ‘to get back at ’em.’ 

We had no difficulty getting them out. Abe be- 
gan to yell. Some men rushed out to learn the 
cause. He seized the foremost man, making a 
hideous uproar all the while, and in three minutes 
had every man out of the hotel and a lively row 
going on. 

In two minutes more Graeme and I had the door 
to the ball-room locked and barricaded with empty 
casks. We then closed the door of the bar-room 
leading to the outside. The bar-room was a 
strongly built log-shack, with a heavy door secured, 
after the manner of the early cabins, with two 
strong oak bars, so that we felt safe from attack 
from that quarter. 

The ball-room we could not hold long, for the 
door was slight and entrance was possible through 
the windows. But as only a few casks of liquor 
were left there, our main work would be in the bar, 
so that the fight would be to hold the passage-way. 
This we barricaded with casks and tables. But by 
this time the crowd had begun to realise what had 
happened, and were wildly yelling at door and win- 


i 82 


Black Rock 


dows. With an axe which Graeme had brought 
with him the casks were soon stove in, and left to 
empty themselves. 

As I was about to empty the last cask, Graeme 
stopped me, saying, ‘ Let that stand here. It will 
help us.’ And so it did. ‘Now skip for the barri- 
cade,’ yelled Graeme, as a man came crashing 
through the window. Before he could regain his 
feet, however, Graeme had seized him and flung 
him out upon the heads of the crowd outside. But 
through the other windows men were coming in, 
and Graeme rushed for the barricade, followed by 
two of the enemy, the foremost of whom I received 
at the top and hurled back upon the others. 

‘Now, be quick!' said Graeme; ‘I’ll hold this. 
Don’t break any bottles on the floor — throw them 
out there,’ pointing to a little window high up in 
the wall. 

I made all haste. The casks did not take much 
time, and soon the whisky and beer were flowing 
over the floor. It made me think of Geordie’s re- 
gret over the ‘sinfu’ waste.’ The bottles took 
longer, and glancing up now and then I saw that 
Graeme was being hard pressed. Men would leap, 
two and three at a time, upon the barricade, and 
Graeme’s arms would shoot out, and over they 


The League’s Revenge 183 

would topple upon the heads of those nearest. It 
was a great sight to see him standing alone with a 
smile on his face and the light of battle in his eye, 
coolly meeting his assailants with those terrific, 
lightning-like blows. In fifteen minutes my work 
was done. 

‘ What next ? ’ I asked. ‘ How do we get out ? ’ 

‘ How is the door ? ' he replied. 

1 looked through the port-hole and said, ‘ A crowd 
of men waiting.' 

‘We’ll have to make a dash for it, I fancy,’ he 
replied cheerfully, though his face was covered 
with blood and his breath was coming in short 
gasps. 

‘Get down the bars and be ready.’ But even 
as he spoke a chair hurled from below caught him 
on the arm, and before he could recover, a man had 
cleared the barricade and was upon him like a tiger. 
It was Idaho Jack. 

‘ Hold the barricade,’ Graeme called out, as they 
both went down. 

I sprang to his place, but I had not much hope of 
holding it long. I had the heavy oak bar of the 
door in my hands, and swinging it round my head 
1 made the crowd give back for a few moments. 

Meantime Graeme had shaken off his enemy, 


184 


Black Rock 


who was circling about him upon his tip-toes, with 
a long knife in his hand, waiting for a chance to 
spring. 

‘ I have been waiting for this for some time, Mr. 
Graeme,’ he said smiling. 

‘Yes,’ replied Graeme, ‘ ever since I spoiled your 
cut-throat game in ’Frisco. How is the little one ? ' 
he added sarcastically. 

Idaho’s face lost its smile and became distorted 
with fury as he replied, spitting out his words, 
‘She — is — where you will be before I am done with 
you.* 

‘Ah! you murdered her too! You’ll hang some 
beautiful day, Idaho,’ said Graeme, as Idaho sprang 
upon him. 

Graeme dodged his blow and caught his fore-arm 
with his left hand and held up high the murderous 
knife. Back and forward they swayed over the 
floor, slippery with whisky, the knife held high in 
the air. I wondered why Graeme did not strike, and 
then I saw his right hand hung limp from the wrist. 
The men were crowding upon the barricade. I was 
in despair. Graeme’s strength was going fast. 
With a yell of exultant fury Idaho threw himself 
with all his weight upon Graeme, who could only 
cling to him. They swayed together toward me, 


185 


The League’s Revenge 

but as they fell I brought down my bar upon the 
upraised hand and sent the knife flying across the 
room. Idaho’s howl of rage and pain was mingled 
with a shout from below, and there, dashing the 
crowd to right and left, came old Nelson, followed 
by Abe, Sandy, Baptiste, Shaw, and others. As 
they reached the barricade it crashed down and, 
carrying me with it, pinned me fast. 

Looking out between the barrels, I saw what 
froze my heart with horror. In the fall Graeme had 
wound his arms about his enemy and held him in a 
grip so deadly that he could not strike; but 
Graeme’s strength was failing, and when I looked I 
saw that Idaho was slowly dragging both across the 
slippery floor to where the knife lay. Nearer and 
nearer his outstretched fingers came to the knife. 
In vain I yelled and struggled. My voice was lost 
in the awful din, and the barricade held me fast. 
Above me, standing on a barrel-head, was Baptiste, 
yelling like a demon. In vain I called to him. My 
Angers could just reach his foot, and he heeded not 
at all my touch. Slowly Idaho was dragging his al- 
most unconscious victim toward the knife. His 
Angers were touching the blade point, when, under 
a sudden inspiration, 1 pulled out my penknife, 
opened it with my teeth, and drove the blade 


i86 


Black Rock 


into Baptiste’s foot. With a blood-curdling yell he 
sprang down and began dancing round in his rage, 
peering among the barrels. 

‘Look! look!’ I was calling in agony, and 
pointing; * for hea verb’s sake, look! Baptiste!' 

The fingers had closed upon the knife, the knife 
was already high in the air, when, with a shriek, 
Baptiste cleared the room at a bound, and, before 
the knife could fall, the little Frenchman’s boot had 
caught the uplifted wrist, and sent the knife flying 
to the wall. 

Then there was a great rushing sound as of wind 
through the forest, and the lights went out. When 
I awoke, I found myself lying with my head on 
Graeme’s knees, and Baptiste sprinkling snow on 
my face. As I looked up Graeme leaned over me, 
and, smiling down into my eyes, he said — 

‘Good boy! It was a great fight, and we put it 
up well; ’ and then he whispered, ‘ I owe you my 
life, my boy.’ 

His words thrilled my heart through and through, 
for I loved him as only men can love men; but f 
only answered — 

‘ I could not keep them back.’ 

‘It was well done,' he said; and I felt proud. 

1 confess I was thankful to be so well out of it, 


The League’s Revenge 187 

for Graeme got ofif with a bone in his wrist bioken, 
and 1 with a couple of ribs cracked; but had it not 
been for the open barrel of whisky which kept them 
occupied for a time, offering too good a chance to 
be lost, and for the timely arrival of Nelson, neither 
of us had ever seen the light again. 

We found Craig sound asleep upon his couch. 
His consternation on waking to see us torn, bruised, 
and bloody was laughable; but he hastened to find 
us warm water and bandages, and we soon felt 
comfortable. 

Baptiste was radiant with pride and light over the 
fight, and hovered about Graeme and me giving 
vent to his feelings in admiring French and English 
expletives. But Abe was disgusted because of the 
failure at Slavin’s; for when Nelson looked in, he 
saw Slavin's French-Canadian wife in charge, with 
her baby on her lap, and he came back to Shaw and 
said, * Come away, we can't touch this ; ’ and Shaw, 
after looking in, agreed that nothing could be done. 
A baby held the fort. 

As Craig listened to the account of the fight, he 
tried hard not to approve, but he could not keep the 
gleam out of his eyes; and as 1 pictured Graeme 
dashing back the crowd thronging the barricade till 
he was brought down by the chair, Craig laughed 


i88 


Black Rock 


gently, and put his hand on Graeme’s knee. And 
as I went on to describe my agony while Idaho’s 
fingers were gradually nearing the knife, his face 
grew pale and his eyes grew wide with horror. 

‘Baptiste here did the business,’ I said, and the 
little Frenchman nodded complacently and said — 

‘Dat’s me for sure.’ 

‘ By the way, how is your foot ?’ asked Graeme. 

‘ He's fuss-rate. Dat's what you call — one bite of 
— of — dat leel bees, he’s dere, you put your finger 
dere, he's not dere! — what you call him ?’ 

‘ Flea I ' I suggested. 

‘ Oui! ' cried Baptiste. ‘ Dafs one bite of flea 

M was thankful I was under the barrels,' I re- 
plied, smiling. 

‘Oui! Dat’s mak’ me ver mad. I jump an’ 
swear mos’ awful bad. Dafs pardon me, M’sieu 
Craig, heh ? ’ 

But Craig only smiled at him rather sadly. ‘ It 
was awfully risky,' he said to Graeme, ‘and it was 
hardly worth it. They’ll get more whisky, and 
anyway the League is gone.’ 

‘ Well,' said Graeme with a sigh of satisfaction, 
‘it is not quite such a one-sided affair as it was.' 

And we could say nothing in reply, for we could 
hear Nixon snoring in the next room, and no one 


189 


The League’s Revenge 

had heard of Billy, and there were others of the 
League that we knew were even now down at 
Slavin’s. It was thought best that all should remain 
in Mr. Craig's shack, not knowing what might hap- 
pen; and so we lay where we could and we needed 
none to sing us to sleep. 

When I awoke, stiff ana sore, it was to find 
breakfast ready and old man Nelson in charge. As 
we were seated, Craig came in, and I saw that he 
was not the man of the night before. His courage 
had come back, his face was quiet and his eye 
clear; he was his own man again. 

‘ Geordie has been out all night, but has failed to 
find Billy,’ he announced quietly. 

We did not talk much; Graeme and I worried 
with our broken bones, and the others suffered 
from a general morning depression. But, after 
breakfast, as the men were beginning to move, 
Craig took down his Bible, and saying — 

‘Wait a few minutes, men!’ he read slowly, 
in his beautiful clear voice, that psalm for all fight- 
ers — 

« God is our refuge and strength,' 

and so on to the noble words — 

* The Lord of Hosts is with us ; 

The God of Jacob is our refuge/ 


Black Rock 


190 

How the mighty words pulled us together, lifted us 
till we grew ashamed of our ignoble rage and of 
our ignoble depression! 

And then Craig prayed in simple, straight-going 
words. There was acknowledgment of failure, 
but 1 knew he was thinking chiefly of himself ; and 
there was gratitude, and that was for the men about 
him, and I felt my face burn with shame; and there 
was petition for help, and we all thought of Nixon, 
and Billy, and the men wakening from their de- 
bauch at Slavin’s this pure, bright morning. And 
then he asked that we might be made faithful and 
worthy of God, whose battle it was. Then we all 
stood up and shook hands with him in silence, and 
every man knew a covenant was being made. But 
none saw his meeting with Nixon. He sent us all 
away before that. 

Nothing was heard 01 the destruction of the hotel, 
stock-in-trade. Unpleasant questions would cer- 
tainly be asked, and the proprietor decided to let 
bad alone. On the point of respectability the suc- 
cess of the ball was not conspicuous, but the anti- 
League men were content, if not jubilant. 

Billy Breen was found by Geordie late in ther 
afternoon in his own old and deserted shack, breath- 
ing heavily, covered up in his filthy, mouldering 


The League’s Revenge 191 

bed-clothes, with a half-empty bottle of whisky at 
his side. Geordie's grief and rage were beyond 
even his Scotch control. He spoke few words, but 
these were of such concentrated vehemence that no 
one felt the need of Abe’s assistance in vocabulary. 

Poor Billy! We carried him to Mrs. Mavor’s 
home; put him in a warm bath, rolled him in 
blankets, and gave him little sips of hot water, then 
of hot milk and coffee; as ! had seen a clever doc- 
tor in the hospital treat a similar case of nerve and 
heart depression. But the already weakened sys- 
tem could not recover from the awful shock of the 
exposure following the debauch; and on Sunday 
afternoon we saw that his heart was failing fast. 
All day the miners had been dropping in to inquire 
after him, for Billy had been a great favourite in 
other days, and the attention of the town had been 
admiringly centred upon his fight of these last 
weeks. It was with no ordinary sorrow that the 
news of his condition was received. As Mrs. 
Mavor sang to him, his large coarse hands moved 
in time to the music, but he did not open his eyes 
till he heard Mr. Craig’s voice in the next room ; 
then he spoke his name, and Mr. Craig was kneel- 
ing beside him in a moment. The words came 
slowly — 


192 


Black Rock 


*Oi tried — to fight it hout — but — oi got beaten. 
Hit 'urts to think ’E’s hashamed 0’ me. Oi‘d like fa 
done better — oi would.' 

‘ Ashamed of you, Billy ! ' said Craig, in a voice 
that broke. ‘Not He.' 

‘ An’— ye hall — 'elped me sol’ he went on. ‘ Oi 
wish oi’d ’a done better — oi do,’ and his eyes sought 
Geordie, and then rested on Mrs. Mavor, who 
smiled back at him with a world of love in her eyes. 

‘You hain’t hashamed 0’ me — yore heyes saigh 
so,’ he said looking at her. 

‘No, Billy,’ she said, and 1 wondered at her 
steady voice, ‘ not a bit- Why, Billy, I am proud 
of you.’ 

He gazed up at her with wonder and ineffable 
love in his little eyes, then lifted his hand slightly 
toward her. She knelt quickly and took it in both 
of hers, stroking it and kissing it. 

‘Oi haught t’a done better. Oi ’m hawful sorry 
oi went back on ’Im. Hit was the lemonaide. The 
boys didn’t mean no 'arm — but hit started the ’ell 
hinside.’ 

Geordie hurled out some bitter words. 

‘Don’t be ’ard on ’em, Geordie; they didn’t mean 
no ’arm,' he said, and his eyes kept waiting tiU 
Geordie said hurriedly — 


The League’s Revenge 19^ 

‘Na! nal lad — a'll juist leave them till the AI- 
michty.' 

Then Mrs. Mavor sang softly, smoothing his^ 
hand, ‘Just as I am,' and Billy dozed quietly for 
half an hour. 

When he awoke again his eyes turned to Mr^ 
Craig, and they were troubled and anxious. 

‘Oi tried 'ard. Oi wanted to win,' he struggled 
to say. By this time Craig was master of himself^ 
and he answered in a clear, distinct voice — 

‘Listen, Billy! You made a great fight, and you: 
are going to win yet. And besides, do you remem- 
ber the sheep that got lost over the mountains ?' — 
this parable was Billy's special delight — ‘ He didn't 
beat it when He got it, did He ? He took it in His- 
arms and carried it home. And so He will you/ 

And Billy, keeping his eyes fastened on Mr- 
Craig, simply said — 

‘Will ’E?' 

‘Sure! ' said Craig. 

‘Will 'E?' he repeated, turning his eyes upon 
Mrs. Mavor. 

‘Why, yes, Billy,' she answered cheerily, though 
the tears were streaming from her eyes. M would,, 
and He loves you far more.' 

He looked at her, smiled, and closed his eyes. I 


194 


Black Rock 


put my hand on his heart; n vi^as fluttering fedbly. 
Again a troubled look passed over his face. 

<My— poor— hold— mother,’ he whispered, ‘she’s 
— hin — the — wukus. ’ 

M shall take care of her, Billy,’ said Mrs. Mavor, 
in a clear voice, and again Billy smiled. Then he 
turned his eyes to Mr. Craig, and from him to 
Geordie, and at last to Mrs. Mavor, where they 
rested. She bent over and kissed him twice on the 
forehead. 

‘Tell'er,’ he said, with difficulty, ‘ ’E’s took me 
*ome.’ 

‘Yes, Billy!’ she cried, gazing into his glazing 
eyes. He tried to lift her hand. She kissed him 
again. He drew one deep breath and lay quite still. 

‘Thank the blessed Saviour!’ said Mr. Craig, 
reverently. ‘ He has taker^ him home.’ 

But Mrs. Mavor Jield the dead hand tight and 
sobbed out passionately, ‘Oh, Billy, Billy! you 
helped me once when 1 needed help! 1 cannot for- 
get!’ 

And Geordie, groaning, ‘ Ay, laddie, laddie,’ 
passed out into the fading light of the early even- 
ing. 

Next day no one went to work, for to all It 
seemed a sacred day. They carried him into th« 


The League’s Revenge 195 

little church, and there Mr. Craig spoke of his long, 
hard fight, and of his final victory; for he died with- 
out a fear, and with love to the men who, not 
knowing, had been his death. And there was no 
bitterness in any heart, for Mr. Craig read the story 
of the sheep, and told how gently He had taken 
Billy home; but, though no word was spoken, it 
was there the League was made again. 

They laid him under the pines, beside Lewis 
Mavor; and the miners threw sprigs of evergreen 
into the open grave. When Slavin, sobbing bit- 
terly, brouyfht his sprig, no one stopped him, though 
ail thought 11 strange. 

As we turned to leave the grave, the light from 
the evening sun came softly through the gap in the 
mountains, and, filling the valley, touched the trees 
and the little mound beneath with glory. And 1 
thought of that other glory, which is brighter than 
the sun, and was not sorry that poor Billy’s 
weary fight was overj and I could not help agree- 
ing with Craig that it was there the League had its 
revenge* 


V 


What Came to Slana 


I 


CHAPTER X 


WHAT CAME TO SLAVIN 

Billy Breen's legacy to the Black Rock mining 
camp was a new League, which was more than the 
old League re-made. The League v/as new in its 
spirit and in its methods. The impression made 
upon the camp by Billy Breen's death was very 
remarkable, and I have never been quite able to 
account for it. The mood of the community at the 
time was peculiarly susceptible. Billy was one of 
the oldest of the old-timers. His decline and fall 
had been a long process, and his struggle for life 
and manhood was striking enough to arrest the 
attention and awaken the sympathy of the whole 
camp. We instinctively side with a man in his 
struggle for freedom ; for we feel that freedom is 
native to him and to us. The sudden collapse of 
the struggle stirred the men with a deep pity for the 
beaten man, and a deep contempt for those who had 
tricked him to his doom. But though the pity and 
the contempt remained, the gloom was relieved and 

the sense of defeat removed from the men's minds 
199 


aoo 


Black Rock 


by the transforming glory of Billy's last hour. Mi. 
Craig, reading of the tragedy of Billy’s death, trans- 
figured defeat into victory, and this was generally 
accepted by the men as the true reading, though 
to them it was full of mystery. But they could 
all understand and appreciate at full value the 
spirit that breathed through the words of the 
dying man: ‘Don’t be 'ard on ’em, they didn’t 
mean no ’arm.’ And this was the new spirit of the 
League. 

It was this spirit that surprised Slavin into sud- 
den tears at the grave’s side. He had come braced 
for curses and vengeance, for all knew it was 
he who had doctored Billy’s lemonade, and instead 
of vengeance the message from the dead that 
echoed through the voice of the living was one of 
pity and forgiveness. 

But the days of the League’s negative, defensive 
warfare were over. The fight was to the death, 
and now the war was to be carried into the enemy’s 
country. The League men proposed a thoroughly 
equipped and well-conducted coffee-room, reading- 
room, and hall, to parallel the enemy’s lines of 
operation, and defeat them with their own weapons 
upon their own ground. The main outlines of the 
scheme were clearly defined and were easily seen* 


What Came to Slavin 201 

but the perfecting of the details called for all Craig’s 
tact and good sense. When, for instance, Vernon 
Winton, who had charge of the entertainment de- 
partment, came for Craig’s opinion as to a minstrel 
troupe and private theatricals, Craig was prompt 
with his answer — 

‘Anything clean goes.’ 

‘ A nigger show ? ’ asked Winton. 

* Depends upon the niggers,’ replied Craig with 
a gravely comic look, shrewdly adding, ‘ ask Mrs. 
Mavor;’ and so the League Minstrel and Dramatic 
Company became an established fact, and proved, 
as Craig afterward told me, ‘ a great means of grace 
to the camp.’ 

Shaw had charge ot the social department, whose 
special care it was to see that the men were made 
welcome to the cosy, cheerful reading-room, where 
they might chat, smoke, read, write, or play games, 
according to fancy. 

But Craig felt that the success or failure of the 
scheme would largely depend upon the character 
of the Resident Manager, who, while caring for 
reading-room and hall, would control and operate 
the important department represented by the coffee- 
room. 

‘ At this point the whole business may come to 


202 Black Rock 

grief,' he said to Mrs. Mavor, without whose counsel 
nothing was done. 

‘ Why come to grief ? ' she asked brightly. 

‘ Because if we don’t get the right man, that's 
what will happen,’ he replied in a tone that spoke 
of anxious worry. 

*But we shall get the right man, never fear.' 
Her serene courage never faltered. ‘ He will come 
to us.' 

Craig turned and gazed at her in frank admiration 
and said — 

‘ If 1 only had your courage! ' 

‘ Courage! ' she answered quickly. ‘ It is not for 
you to say that; ' and at his answering iook the red 
came into her cheek and the depths in her eyes 
glowed, and I marvelled and wondered, looking at 
Craig's cool face, whether his blood were running 
evenly through his veins. But his voice was quiet, 
a shade too quiet I thought, as he gravely replied — 

' I would often be a coward but for the shame of 
it.' 

And so the League waited for the man to come, 
who was to be Resident Manager and make the 
new enterprise a success. And come he did; but 
the manner of his coming was so extraordinary, 
that I have believed in the doctrine of a special 


What Canie to Slavin 203 

providence ever since; for as Craig said, ‘If he had 
come straight from Heaven I could not have been 
more surprised/ 

While the League was thus waiting, its inter- 
est centred upon Slavin, chiefly because he repre- 
sented more than any other the forces of the enemy; 
and though Billy Breen stood between him and the 
vengeance of the angry men who would have made 
short work of him and his saloon, nothing could 
save him from himself, and after the funeral Slavin 
went to his bar and drank whisky as he had never 
drunk before. But the more he drank the fiercer 
and gloomier he became, and when the men drinks 
ing with him chaffed him, he swore deeply and 
with such threats that they left him alone. 

It did not help Slavin either to have Nixon stride 
in through the crowd drinking at his bar and give 
him words of warning. 

‘It is not your fault, Slavin,’ he said in slow, 
cool voice, ‘ that you and your precious crew didn’t 
sent me to my death, too. You’ve won your bet, 
but I want to say, that next time, though you are 
seven to one, or ten times that, when any of you 
boys offer me a drink I’ll take you to mean fight, 
and I’ll not disappoint you, and some one will be 
killed,’ and so saying he strode out again, leaving 


204 


Black Rock 


a mean-looking crowd of men behind him. AH 
who had not been concerned in the business at 
Nixon’s shack expressed approval of his position, 
and hoped he would ‘see it through.’ 

But the impression of Nixon’s words upon Slavin 
was as nothing compared with that made by Geordie 
Crawford. It was not what he said so much as the 
manner of awful solemnity he carried. Geordie 
was struggling conscientiously to keep his promise 
to ‘not be ’ard on the boys,’ and found consider- 
able relief in remembering that he had agreed ‘ to 
leave them tae the Almichty.' But the manner of 
leaving them was so solemnly awful, that I could 
not wonder that Slavin’s superstitious Irish nature 
supplied him with supernatural terrors. It was the 
second day after the funeral that Geordie and I 
were walking toward Slavin's. There was a great 
shout of laughter as we drew near. 

Geordie stopped short, and saying, ‘We’ll juist 
gang in a meenute,' passed through the crowd and 
up to the bar. 

‘Michael Slavin,’ began Geordie, and the men 
stared in dead silence, with their glasses in their 
hands. 'Michael Slavin, a’ promised the lad a’d 
bear ye nae ill wull, but juist leave ye tae the Al- 
michty; an’ I want tae tell ye that a’m keepin’ ma 


What Came to Slavin 


205 


wur-r-d. But’ — and here he raised his hand, and 
his voice became preternaturally solemn — ‘his bluid 
is upon yer ban’s. Do ye no’ see it ? ’ 

His voice rose sharply, and as he pointed, Slavin 
instinctively glanced at his hands, and Geordie 
added — 

‘ Ay, and the Lord will require it o’ you and yer 
hoose.' 

They told me that Slavin shivered as if taken 
with ague after Geordie went out, and though he 
laughed and swore, he did not stop drinking till he 
sank into a drunken stupor and had to be carried 
to bed. His little French-Canadian wife could not 
understand the change that had come over her 
husband. 

‘He's like one bear,’ she confided to Mrs. 
Mavor, to whom she was showing her baby of a 
year old. ‘He’s not kees me one tarn dis day. 
He’s mos hawful bad, he’s not even look at de 
baby.’ And this seemed sufficient proof that 
something was seriously wrong; for she went on 
to say — 

‘He’s tink more for dat leel baby dan for de 
whole worl’; he’s tink more for dat baby dan for 
me,' but she shrugged her pretty little shoulders in 
deprecation of her speech. 


Black Rock 


106 

‘You must play for him,’ said Mrs. Mavor, ‘and 
ail will come right’ 

‘ Ah ! madame ! ’ she replied earnestly, * every day, 
every day, I pray la sainte Vierge et tous les saints 
for him.’ 

‘You must pray to your Father in heaven for 
him.' 

‘ Ahl oui! I weel pray,’ and Mrs. Mavor sent her 
away bright with smiles, and with new hope and 
courage in her heart. 

She had very soon need of all her courage, for at 
the week’s end her baby fell dangerously ill. Slav- 
in’s anxiety and fear were not relieved much by the 
reports the men brought him from time to time of 
Geordie’s ominous forebodings; forGeordie had no 
doubt but that the Avenger of Blood was hot upon 
Slavin’s trail; and as the sickness grew, he became 
confirmed in this conviction. While he could not be 
said to find satisfaction in Slavin’s impending afflic- 
tion, he could hardly hide his complacency in the 
promptness of Providence in vindicating his theory 
of retribution. 

But Geordie’s complacency was somewhat rudely 
shocked by Mr. Craig’s answer to his theory one 
day. 

‘You read vour Bible to little profit, it seems tG 


What Came to Slavin 207 

me, Geordie: or, perhaps, you have never read the 
Master's teaching about the Tower of Siloam. Bet- 
ter read that and take that warning to yourself.' 

Geordie gazed after Mr. Craig as he turned away, 
and muttered — 

* The toor o' Siloam, is it ? Ay, a’ ken fine aboot 
the toor o' Siloam, and aboot the toor o’ Babel as 
weel; an’ a've read, too, about the blaspheemious 
Herod, an’ sic like. Man, but he’s a hot-heided 
laddie, and lacks discreemeenation.’ 

* What about Herod, Geordie ? ' I asked. 

‘Aboot Herod?’ — with a strong tinge of con- 
tempt in his tone. ‘ Aboot Herod ? Man, hae ye 
no' read in the Screepturs aboot Herod an’ the 
wur-r-ms in the wame o’ him ?' 

‘Oh yes, I see,’ I hastened to answer. 

‘Ay, a fule can see what’s flapped in his face,’ 
with which bit of proverbial philosophy he sud- 
denly left me. But Geordie thenceforth contented 
himself, in Mr. Craig’s presence at least, with omi- 
nous head-shakings, equally aggravating, and im- 
possible to answer. 

That same night, however, Geordie showed that 
with all his theories he had a man’s true heart, for 
he caime in haste to Mrs. Mavor to say: 

‘ Ye'il be needed ower yonder, a’m thinkin’.’ 


2 o 8 Black Rock 

‘Why? Is the baby woise? Have you been 
in ?’ 

‘Na, na/ replied Geordie cautiously, ‘a’ll no gang 
where a’m no wanted. But yon puir thing, ye can 
hear ootside weepin’ and moanin’. 

‘She’ll maybe need ye tae,' he went on dubiously 
to me. ‘ Ye’re a kind o’ doctor, a’ hear,' not com- 
mitting himself to any opinion as to my profes- 
sional value. But Slavin would have none of me, 
having got the doctor sober enough to prescribe. 

The interest of the camp in Slavin was greatly 
increased by the illness of his baby, which was to 
him as the apple of his eye. There were a few 
who, impressed by Geordie’s profound convictions 
upon the matter, were inclined to favour the retri- 
bution theory, and connect the baby’s illness with 
the vengeance of the Almighty. Among these few 
was Slavin himself, and goaded by his remorseful 
terrors he sought relief in drink. But this brought 
him only deeper and fiercer gloom; so that between 
her suffering child and her savagely despairing hus- 
band, the poor mother was desperate with terror 
and grief. 

‘Ah! madame,’ she sobbed to Mrs. Mavor, ‘my 
heart is broke for him. He’s heet noting for tree 
days, but jis dreenk, dreenk, dreenk.’ 


What Came to Slavin 


209 


lue next day a man came for me in haste. The 
baby was dying and the doctor was drunk. I 
found the little one in a convulsion lying across 
Mrs. Mayor’s knees, the mother kneeling beside it, 
wringing her hands in a dumb agony, and Slavin 
standing near, silent and suffering. 1 glanced at the 
bottle of medicine upon the table and asked Mrs. 
Mavor the dose, and found the baby had been poi- 
soned. My look of horror told Slavin something 
was wrong, and striding to me he caught my arm 
and asked — 

* What is it ? Is the medicine wrong ? ’ 

I tried to put him off, but his grip tightened till 
his fingers seemed to reach the bone. 

‘The dose is certainly too large; but let me go, I 
must do something.’ 

He let me go at once, saying in a voice that made 
my heart sore for him, ‘ He has killed my baby; he 
has killed my baby.’ And then he cursed the 
doctor with awful curses, and with a look of such 
murderous fury on his face that I was glad the 
doctor was too drunk to appear. 

His wife hearing his curses, and understanding 
the cause, broke out into wailing hard to bear. 

‘Ah! mon petit angel It is dat wheeskey dat’s 
keel mon baby. Ah! mon cheri, mon amour. Ah! 


:2io 


Black Rock 


mon DieuI Ah, Michael, how often I say that 
wheeskey he’s not good ting.' 

It was more than Slavin could bear, and with 
jwful curses he passed out. Mrs. Mavor laid the 
baby in its crib, for the convulsion had passed 
away; and putting her arms about the wailing little 
Frenchwoman, comforted and soothed her as a 
mother might her child. 

' And you must help your husband, ’ I heard her say. 
^ He will need you more than ever. Think of him.’ 

'Ah! oui! I weel,’ was the quick reply, and from 
that moment there was no more wailing. 

It seemed no more than a minute till Slavin came 
in again, sober, quiet, and steady; the passion was 
all gone from his face, and only the grief remained. 

.\s we stood leaning over the sleeping child the 
little thing opened its eyes, saw its father, and 
smiled. It was too much for him. The big man 
dropped on his knees with a dry sob. 

' Is thfcre no chance at all, at all ? ’ he whispered, 
but I could give him no hope. He immediately 
rose, and pulling himself together, stood perfectly 
quiet. 

A new terror sthed upon the mother. 

‘My baby is not— what you call it?' going 
through the form of baptism. ‘ An’ he will not 


What Came to Slavm 


2TX 


come to la sainte Vierge/ she said, crossing herselC 

‘Do not fear for your little one,’ said Mrs. Mavor^ 
still with her arms about her. ‘ The good Saviour 
will take your darling into His own arms.’ 

But the mother would not be comforted by this. 
And Slavin too, was uneasy. 

‘ Where is Father Goulet he asked. 

‘Ah! you were not good to the holy pere de las 
tarn, Michael,’ she replied sadly. ‘The saints are 
not please for you.’ 

‘ Where is the priest he demanded. 

‘ I know not for sure. At de Landin’, dat’s lak.* 

‘I’ll go for him,’ he said. But his wife clung to 
him, beseeching him not to leave her, and indeed 
he was loth to leave his little one. 

1 found Craig and told him the difficulty. With 
his usual promptness, he was ready with a solu- 
tion. 

‘Nixon has a team. He will go.’ Then he 
added, ‘ I wonder if they would not like me to bap- 
tise their little one. Father Goulet and I have ex- 
changed offices before now. I remember how he 
came to one of my people in my absence, when she 
was dying, read with her, prayed with her, com- 
forted her, and helped her across the river. He h 
a good soul, and has no nonsense about him. Send 


212 


Black Hock 


for me if you think there is need. It will make no 
difference to the baby, but it will comfort the 
mother/ 

Nixon was willing enough to go; but when he 
came to the door Mrs. Mavor saw the hard look in 
his face. He had not forgotten his wrong, for day 
by day he was still fighting the devil within that 
Slavin had called to life. But Mrs. Mavor, under 
cover of getting him instructions, drew him into 
the room. While listening to her, his eyes wan- 
dered from one to the other of the group till they 
rested upon the little white face in the crib. She 
noticed the change in his face. 

‘They fear the little one will never see the Sav- 
iour if it is not baptised,’ she said, in a low tone. 

He was eager to go. 

‘ I’ll do my best to get the priest,’ he said, and 
was gone on his sixty miles’ race with death. 

The long afternoon wore on, but before it was 
half gone I saw Nixon could not win, and that the 
priest would be too late, so I sent for Mr. Craig. 
From the moment he entered the room he took 
command of us all. He was so simple, so manly, 
so tender, the hearts of the parents instinctively 
turned to him. 

As he was about to proceed with the baptism, 


What Came to Slavin 


213 


the mother whispered to Mrs. Mavor, who hesitat- 
ingly asked Mr. Craig if he would object to using 
holy water. 

‘To me it is the same as any other/ he replied 
gravely. 

‘An' will he make the good sign?' asked the 
mother timidly. 

And so the child was baptised by the Presby- 
terian minister with holy water and with the sign 
of the cross. I don’t suppose it was orthodox, and 
it rendered chaotic some of my religious notions, 
but I thought more of Craig that moment than ever 
before. He was more man than minister, or per- 
haps he was so good a minister that day because so 
much a man. As he read about the Saviour and 
the children and the disciples who tried to get in 
between them, and as he told us the story in his 
own simple and beautiful way, and then went on 
to picture the home of the little children, and the 
same Saviour in the midst of them, 1 felt my heart 
grow warm, and I could easily understand the cry 
of the mother — 

* Oh, mon Jesu, prenez moi aussi, take me wiz 
mon mignon.' 

The cry wakened Slavin's heart, and he said 
huskily — 


214 


Black Rock 


*Oh! Annette! Annette!’ 

*Ah, oui! an’ Michael too!’ Then to Mr. 
Craig — 

* You tink He’s tak me some day ? Eh ?’ 

'All who love Him,’ he replied. 

' An’ Michael too ? ’ she asked, her eyes searching 
his face. ' An’ Michael too ? ’ 

But Craig only replied: ' All who love Him.’ 

* Ah, Michael, you must pray le bon Jesu. He’s 
garde notre mignon.’ And then she bent over the 
babe, whispering — 

'Ah, mon ch6ri, mon amour, adieu! adieu! mon 
ange! ’ till Slavin put his arms about her and took 
her away, for as she was whispering her farewells, 
her baby, with a little answering sigh, passed into 
the House with many rooms. 

'Whisht, Annette darlin’; don’t cry for the 
baby,* said her husband. ' Shure it’s better off than 
the rest av us, it is. An’ didn’t ye hear what the 
minister said about the beautiful place it is ? An’ 
shure he wouldn’t lie to us at all.’ But a mother 
cannot be comforted for her first-born son. 

An hour later Nixon brought Father Goulet. He 
was a little Frenchman with gentle manners and the 
face of a saint. Craig welcomed him warmly, and 
told him what he had done. 


What Came to Slavin 


215 


‘That is good, my brother,' he said, with gentle 
courtesy, and, turning to the mother, ‘Your little 
one is safe.’ 

Behind Father Goulet came Nixon softly, and 
gazed down upon the little quiet face, beautiful 
with the magic of death. Slavin came quietly and 
stood beside him. Nixon turned and offered his 
hand. But Slavin said, moving slowly back — 

‘ I did ye a wrong, Nixon, an’ it’s a sorry man I 
am this day for it.' 

‘ Don't say a word, Slavin,’ answered Nixon, hur- 
riedly. ‘ I know how you feel. I’ve got a baby, 
too. ! want to see it again. That's why the break 
hurt me so.’ 

‘As God’s above,’ replied Slavin earnestly, ‘I’ll 
hinder ye no more.’ They shook hands, and we 
passed out. 

We laid the baby under the pines, not far from 
Billy Breen, and the sweet spring wind blew through 
the Gap, and came softly down the valley, whisper- 
ing to the pines and the grass and the hiding flow- 
ers of the New Life coming to the world. And the 
mother must have heard the whisper in her heart, 
for, as the Priest was saying the words of the Serv- 
ice, she stood with Mrs. Mavor’s arms about her, 
and her eyes were looking far away beyond the 


2i6 


Black Rock 


purple mountain-tops, seeing what made her smile. 
And Slavin, too, looked different. His very fea- 
tures seemed finer. The coarseness was gone out 
of his face. What had come to him 1 could not 
tell. 

But when the doctor came into Slavin’s house 
that night it was the old Slavin I saw, but with a 
look of such deadly fury on his face that I tried to 
get the doctor out at once. But he was half drunk 
and after his manner was hideously humorous. 

‘ How do, ladies! How do, gentlemen! ’ was his 
loud-voiced salutation. ' Quite a professional gath- 
ering, clergy predominating. Lion and Lamb too, 
ha! ha! which is the lamb, eh? ha! ha! very 
good! awfully sorry to hear of your loss, Mrs. 
Slavin; did our best you know, can’t help this sort 
of thing.’ 

Before any one could move, Craig was at his side, 
and saying in .a clear, firm voice, ‘ One moment, 
doctor,’ caught him by the arm and had him out of 
the room before he knew it. Slavin, who had been 
crouching in his chair with hands twitching and 
eyes glaring, rose and followed, still crouching as 
he walked. I hurried after him, calling him back. 
Turning at my voice, the doctor saw Slavin ap- 
oroaching. There was something so terrifying in 


What Came to Slavin 


217 


his swift noiseless crouching motion, that the doc- 
tor, crying out in fear ‘ Keep him off,' fairly turned 
and fled. He was too late. Like a tiger Slavin 
leaped upon him and without waiting to strike had 
him by the throat with both hands, and bearing 
him to the ground, worried him there as a dog 
might a cat. 

Immediately Craig and I were upon him, but 
though we lifted him clear off the ground we could 
not loosen that two-handed strangling grip. As 
we were struggling there a light hand touched my 
shoulder. It was Father Goulet. 

‘Please let him go, and stand away from us,' he 
said, waving us back. We obeyed. He leaned over 
Slavin and spoke a few words to him. Slavin 
started as if struck a heavy blow, looked up at the 
priest with fear in his face, but still keeping his 
grip. 

‘Let him go,' said the priest. Slavin hesitated. 
‘Let him go! quick!' said the priest again, and 
Slavin with a snarl let go his hold and stood sullenly 
facing the priest. 

Father Goulet regarded him steadily for some 
seconds and then asked — 

‘What would you do.^’ His voice was gentle 
enough, even sweet, but there was something in it 


2i 8 Black Rock 

that chilled my marrow. ‘ What would you do?’ 
he repeated. 

‘ He murdered my child,’ growled Slavin. 

‘Ah! how?’ 

‘ He was drunk and poisoned him.’ 

‘Ah! who gave him drink? Who made him a 
drunkard two years ago ? Who has wrecked his 
life?' 

There was no answer, and the even-toned voice 
went relentlessly on — 

’ Who is the murderer of your child now ?’ 

Slavin groaned and shuddered. 

‘Go!’ and the voice grew sUrr. ‘Repent of 
your sin and add not another.’ 

Slavin turned his eyes upon the motionless figure 
on the ground and then upon the priest. Father 
Goulet took one step toward him, and, stretching 
out his hand and pointing with his finger, said — 

‘Go!’ 

And Slavin slowly backed away and went into 
his house. It was an extraordinary scene, and it is 
often with me now : the dark figure on the ground, 
the slight erect form of the priest with outstretched 
arm and finger, and Slavin backing away, fear and 
fury struggling in his face. 

It was a near thing for the doctor, however, and 


What Came to Slavin 


219 


two minutes more of that grip would have done for 
him. As it was, we had the greatest difficulty in 
reviving him. 

What the priest did with Slavin after getting him 
inside 1 know not; that has always been a mystery 
to me. But when we were passing the saloon that 
night after taking Mrs. Mavor home, we saw a light 
and heard strange sounds within. Entering, we 
found another whisky raid in progress, Slavin him- 
self being the raider. We stood some moments 
watching him knocking in the heads of casks and 
emptying bottles. I thought he had gone mad, and 
approached him cautiously. 

'Hello, Slavin!’ I called out; ‘what does this 
mean ? ’ 

He paused in his strange work, and I saw that his 
face, though resolute, was quiet enough. 

‘It means I’m done wid the business, 1 am,’ he 
said, in a determined voice. ‘ I’ll help no niore to 
kill any man, or,’ in a lower tone, ‘any man’s 
baby.’ The priest’s words had struck home. 

‘Thank God, Slavin!’ said Craig, offering his 
hand; ‘you are much too good a man for the busi- 
ness.’ 

‘Good or bad. I’m done wid it,’ he replied, going 
on with his work. 


220 


Black Rock 


‘You are throv»^ing away good money, Slavin/ I 
said, as the head of a cask crashed in. 

‘ It’s meself that knows it, for the price of whisky 
has riz in town this week,’ he answered, giving me 
a look out of the corner of his eye. ‘ Bedad! it was 
a rare clever job,’ referring to our Black Rock Hotel 
affair. 

‘ But won’t you be sorry for this ? ’ asked Craig. 

‘Beloike 1 wdll; an’ that’s why I’m doin’ it before 
I'm sorry for it,’ he replied, with a delightful bull. 

‘Look here, Slavin,’ said Craig earnestly; ‘if I 
can be of use to you in any way, count on me.' 

‘ It’s good to me the both of yez have been, an’ 
I’ll not forget it to yez,’ he replied, with like ear- 
nestness. 

As we told Mrs. Mavor that night, for Craig 
thought it too good to keep, her eyes seemed to 
grow deeper and the light in them to glow more 
intense as she listened to Craig pouring out his tale. 
Then she gave him her hand and said — 

‘You have your man at last.’ 

‘ What man ? ’ 

‘ The man you have been waiting for.' 

‘ Slavin r 

‘Why not?’ 

‘ I never thought of it.' 


What Came to Slavin 


221 


‘No more did he, nor any of us.’ Then, after a 
pause, she added gently, ‘He has been sent to us.’ 

‘Do you know, 1 believe you are right,’ Craig 
said slowly, and then added, ‘ But you always are.’ 

‘I fear not,’ she answered; but 1 thought she 
liked to hear his words. 

The whole town was astounded next morning 
when Slavin went to work in the mines, and its as- 
tonishment only deepened as the days went on, and 
he stuck to his work. Before three weeks had gone 
the League had bought and remodelled the saloon 
and had secured Slavin as Resident Manager. 

The evening of the reopening of Slavin’s saloon, 
as it was still called, was long remembered in 
Black Rock. It was the occasion of the first ap- 
pearance of ‘The League Minstrel and Dramatic 
Troupe,’ in what was described as a ‘hair-lifting 
tragedy with appropriate musical selections.’ Then 
there was a grand supper and speeches and great 
enthusiasm, which reached its climax when Nixon 
rose to propose the toast of the evening — ‘ Our 
Saloon.’ His speech was simply a quiet, manly 
account of his long struggle with the deadly enemy. 
When he came to speak of his recent defeat he 
said — 

‘And while I am blaming no one but myself, 1 


222 


Black Rock 


am glad to-night that this saloon is on our side, for 
my own sake and for the sake of those who have 
been waiting long to see me. But before I sit down 
I want to say that while I live I shall not forget that 
1 owe my life to the man that took me that night to 
his own shack and put me in his own bed, and met 
me next morning with an open hand; for I tell you 
1 had sworn to God that that morning would be my 
Jast.' 

Geordie’s speech was characteristic. After a brief 
reference to the ‘mysteerious ways o’ Providence/ 
which he acknowledged he might sometimes fail to 
understand, he went on to express his unqualified 
approval of the new saloon. 

' It’s a cosy place, an’ there’s nae sulphur aboot. 
Besides a’ that,’ he went on enthusiastically, ‘it’ll be 
a terrible savin’. I’ve juist been countin’.’ 

‘You bet!’ ejaculated a voice with great em- 
phasis. 

‘I’ve juist been countin’,’ went on Geordie, ignor- 
ing the remark and the laugh which followed, ‘ an’ 
it’s an awfu’-Iike money ye pit ower wi’ the 
whusky. Ye see ye canna dae wi’ ane bit glass; ye 
maum hae twa or three at the verra least, for it’s no 
verra forrit ye get wi’ ane glass. But wi’ yon coffee 
ye juist get a saxpence-worth an’ ye want nae mair.’ 


What Came to Slavin 223 

There was another shout of laughter, v/hich puz- 
zled Geordie much. 

‘ I dinna see the jowk, but I've slippit ower in 
whusky mair nor a hunner dollars.’ 

Then he paused, looking hard before him, and 
twisting his face into extraordinary shapes till the 
men looked at him in wonder. 

‘ I’m rale glad 0 ’ this saloon, but it’s ower late for 
the lad that canna be helpit the noo. He’ll not be 
needin’ help o’ oors, I doot, but there are ithers’ — 
and he stopped abruptly and sat down, v/ith no ap- 
plause followirg. 

But when Slavin, our saloon-keeper, rose to re- 
ply, the men jumped up on the seats and yelled till 
they could yell no more. Slavin stood, evidently in 
trouble with himself, and finally broke out — 

‘ It’s spacheless I am entirely. What’s come to 
me I know not, nor how it's come. But I’ll do my 
best for yez.’ And then the yelling broke out 
again. 

1 did not yell myself. I was too busy watching 
the varying lights in Mrs. Mavor's eyes as she looked 
from Craig to the yelling men on the benches and 
tables, and then to Slavin, and I found myself won- 
dering if she knew what it was that came to Slavin. 




The Two Calls 


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CHAPTER XI 


THE TWO CALLS 

With the call to Mr. Craig I fancy I had some- 
thing to do myself. The call came from a young 
congregation in an eastern city, and was based 
partly upon his college record and more upon the 
advice of those among the authorities who knew 
his work in the mountains. But I flatter myself 
that my letters to friends who w'ere of importance 
in that congregation were not without influence, for 
I was of the mind that the man who could handle 
Black Rock miners as he could was ready for some- 
thing larger than a mountain mission. That he 
would refuse 1 had not imagined, though I ought to 
have known him better. He was but little troubled 
over it. He went with the call and the letters urg- 
ing his acceptance to Mrs. Mavor. 1 was putting 
the last touches to some of my work in the room at 
the back of Mrs. Mavor’s house when he came in. 
She read the letters and the call quietly, and waited 
for him to speak. 

‘Well?’ he said; ‘should 1 go?' 

227 


Black Rock 


aa8 

She started, and grew a little pale. His question 
suggested a possibility that had not occurred to her. 
That he could leave his work in Black Rock she had 
hitherto never imagined; but there was other work, 
and he was fit for good work anywhere. Why 
should he not go? I saw the fear in her face, but I 
saw more than fear in her eyes, as for a moment or 
two she let them rest upon Craig’s face. I read her 
story, and I was not sorry for either of them. But 
she was too much a woman to show her heart easily 
to the man she loved, and her voice was even and 
calm as she answered his question. 

' Is this a very large congregation ? ' 

‘One of the finest in all the East,’ 1 put in for 
him. ‘ It will be a great thing for Craig.' 

Craig was studying her curiously. I think she 
noticed his eyes upon her, for she went on even 
more quietly — 

‘ It will be a great chance for work, and you are 
able for a larger sphere, you know, than poor Black 
Rock affords.' 

‘Who will take Black Rock ?’ he asked. 

‘Let some other fellow have a try at it,’ I said. 
^ Why should you waste your talents here ? ‘ 

‘Waste?’ cried Mrs. Mavor indignantly. 

‘Well, “bury,” if you like it better,’ I replied. 


The Two Calls 


229 

'Jt would not take much of a grave for that 
funeral,’ said Craig, smiling. 

'Oh,* said Mrs. Mavor, ‘you will be a great man 
I know, and perhaps you ought to go now.’ 

But he answered coolly: ‘There are fifty men 
wanting that Eastern charge, and there is only one 
wanting Black Rock, and I don’t think Black Rock 
is anxious for a change, so I have determined to 
stay where I am yet a while,' 

Even my deep disgust and disappointment did not 
prevent me from seeing the sudden leap of joy in 
Mrs. Mavor’s eyes, but she, with a great effort, an- 
swered quietly — 

‘ Black Rock will be very glad, and some of us 
very, very glad.’ 

Nothing could change his mind. There was no 
one he knew who could take his place just now, 
and why should he quit his work ? It annoyed me 
considerably to feel he was right. Why is it that 
the right things are so frequently unpleasant? 

And if I had had any doubt about the matter next 
Sabbath evening would have removed it. For the 
men came about him after the service and let him 
feel in their own way how much they approved his 
decision, though the self-sacrifice involved did not 
appeal to them. They were too truly Western to 


230 


Black Rock 


imagine that any inducements the East could offer 
could compensate for his loss of the West. It was 
only fitting that the West should have the best, and 
so the miners took almost as a matter of course, 
and certainly as their right, that the best man they 
knew should stay with them. But there were those 
who knew how much of what most men considei 
worth while he had given up, and they loved him 
no less for it. 

Mrs. Mavor’s call was not so easily disposed of. 
It came close upon the other, and stirred Black Rock 
as nothing else had ever stirred it before. 

1 found her one afternoon gazing vacantly at some 
legal documents spread out before her on the table, 
and evidently overcome by their contents. There 
was first a lawyer’s letter informing her that by the 
death of her husband’s father she had come into the 
whole of the Mavor estates, and all the wealth per- 
taining thereto. The letter asked for instructions, 
and urged an immediate return with a view to a 
personal superintendence of the estates. A letter, 
too, from a distant cousin of her husband urged her 
immediate return for many reasons, but chiefly on 
account of the old mother who had been left alone 
with none nearer of kin than himself to care for her 
and cheer her old age. 


The Two Calls 


231 


With these two came another letter from her 
mother-in-law herself. The crabbed, trembling 
characters were even more eloquent than the words 
with which the letter closed. 

“I have lost my boy, and now my husband is 
gone, and 1 am a lonely woman. I have many 
servants, and some friends, but none near to me, 
none so near and dear as my dead son’s wife. My 
days are not to be many. Come to me, my daugh- 
ter; I want you and Lewis's child.’ 

‘Must I go?’ she asked with white lips. 

* Do you know her well ? ’ 1 asked. 

M only saw her once or twice,’ she answered; 
‘ but she has been very good to me.’ 

‘She can hardly need you. She has friends. 
And surely you are needed here.* 

She looked at me eagerly. 

‘ Do you think so ? ’ she said. 

‘ Ask any man in the camp — Shaw, Nixon, young 
Winton, Geordie. Ask Craig,’ 1 replied. 

‘ Yes, he will tell me * she said. 

Even as she spoke Craig came up the steps. I 
passed into my studio and went on with my work, 
for my days at Black Rock were getting few, and 
many sketches remained to be filled in. 

Through my open door I saw Mrs. Mavor lay hei 


232 


Black Rock 


letters before Mr. Craig, saying, * I have a call too.* 
They thought not of me. 

He went through the papers, carefully laid them 
down without a word while she waited anxiously, 
almost impatiently, for him to speak. 

‘ Well ? * she asked, using his own words to her; 
* should 1 go ? ' 

* I do not know,' he replied; 'that is for you to 
decide — you know all the circumstances.’ 

‘ The letters tell all.’ Her tone carried a feeling of 
disappointment. He did not appear to care. 

' The estates are large ? ’ he asked. 

' Yes, large enough — twelve thousand a year.’ 

‘And has your mother-in-law any one with 
her?’ 

‘ She has friends, but, as she says, none near of 
kin. Her nephew looks after the works — iron 
works, you know — he has shares in them.* 

‘She is evidently very lonely,’ he answered 
gravely. 

‘What shall I do?’ she asked, and I knew she 
was waiting to hear him urge her to stay; but he 
did not see, or at least gave no heed. 

‘I cannot say,’ he repeated quietly. ‘There are 
many things to consider ; the estates ’ 

‘The estates seem to trouble you,’ she replied, 


The Two Calls 


m 

almost fretfully. He looked up in surprise, f won- 
dered at his slowness. 

‘Yes, the estates,’ he went on, ‘and tenants, I 
suppose — ^your mother-in-law, your little Marjorie’s 
future, your own future.’ 

‘ The estates are in capable hands, I should sup- 
pose,’ she urged, ‘and my future depends upon 
what I choose my work to be.’ 

‘But one cannot shift one’s responsibilities,' he 
replied gravely. ‘ These estates, these tenants, have 
come to you, and with them come duties.’ 

‘ I do not want them,’ she cried. 

‘That life has great possibilities of good,’ he said 
kindly. 

‘ 1 had thought that perhaps there was work for 
me here,' she suggested timidly. 

‘Great work,’ he hastened to say. ‘You have 
done great work. But you will do that wherever 
you go. The only question is where your work 
lies.’ 

‘ You think I should go,’ she said suddenly and a 
little bitterly. 

‘1 cannot bid you stay,’ he answered steadily. 

‘ How can I go ? ’ she cried, appealing to him. 
‘Must I go?’ 

How he could resist that appeal I could not un- 


234 


Black Rock 


derstand. His face was cold and hard, and his 
voice was almost harsh as he replied — 

' If it is right, you will go— you must go.' 

Then she burst forth — 

- M cannot go. I shall stay here. My work is 
here; my heart is here. How can 1 go? You 
thought it worth your while to stay here and work, 
why should not I ? ' 

The momentary gleam in his eyes died out, and 
again he said coldly — 

‘ This work was clearly mine. I am needed here.' 

‘Yes, yes!’ she cried, her voice full of pain; ‘you 
are needed, but there is no need of me.’ 

‘Stop, stop! ' he said sharply; ‘you must not say 
so.' 

‘I will say it, I must say it,’ she cried, her voice 
vibrating with the intensity of her feeling. ‘I 
know you do not need me; you have your work, 
your miners, your plans; you need no one; you are 
strong. But,' and her voice rose to a cry, ‘I am 
not strong by myself ; you have made me strong. 
I came here a foolish girl, foolish and selfish and 
narrow. God sent me grief. Three years ago my 
heart died. Now I am living again. I am a woman 
now, no longer a girl. You have done this for me. 
Your life, your words, yourself— you have showed 


The Two Calls 


235 

me a better, a higher life, than I had ever known 
before, and now you send me away.’ 

She paused abruptly. 

* Blind, stupid fool! ’ 1 said to myself. 

He held himself resolutely in hand, answering 
carefully, but his voice had lost its coldness and 
was sweet and kind. 

‘ Have I done this for you ? Then surely God has 
been good to me. And you have helped me more 
than any words could tell you.* 

* Helped!* she repeated scornfully. 

*Yes, helped,* he answered, wondering at her 
scorn. 

‘You can do without my help,* she went on. 
'You make people help you. You will get many 
to help you; but I need help, too.’ She was stand- 
ing before him with her hands tightly clasped; her 
face was pale, and her eyes deeper than ever. He 
sat looking up at her in a kind of maze as she 
poured out her words hot and fast. 

‘I am not thinking of you.’ His coldness had 
hurt her deeply. ‘I am selfish; I am thinking of 
myself. How shall 1 do ? 1 have grown to depend 
on you, to look to you. It is nothing to you that I 
go, but to me — * She did not dare to finish. 

By this time Craig was standing before her, lus 


236 


Black Rock 


face deadly pale. When she came to the end of 
her words, he said, in a voice low, sweet, and 
thrilling with emotion — 

‘Ah, if you only knew! Do not make me forget 
myself. You do not guess what you are doing.’ 

‘ What am 1 doing ? What is there to know, but 
that you tell me easily to go ? ’ She was struggling 
with the tears she was too proud to let him see. 

He put his hands resolutely behind him, looking 
at her as if studying her face for the first time. 
Under his searching look she dropped her eyes, 
and the warm colour came slowly up into her neck 
and face; then, as if with a sudden resolve, she 
lifted her eyes to his, and looked back at him un- 
flinchingly. 

He started, surprised, drew slowly near, put his 
hands upon her shoulders, surprise giving place 
to wild joy. She never moved her eyes; they 
drew him toward her. He took her face between 
his hands, smiled into her eyes, kissed her lips. 
She did not move; he stood back from her, threw 
up his head, and laughed aloud. She came to 
him, put her head upon his breast, and lifting up 
her face said, ‘Kiss me.' He put his arms about 
her, bent down and kissed her lips again, and 
then reverently her brow. Then putting her back 


The Two Calls 


237 

from him, but still holding both her hands, he 
cried — 

*No! you shall not go. 1 shall never let you go.' 

She gave a little sigh of content, and, smiling up 
at him, said — 

‘I can go now;' but even as she spoke the flush 
died from her face, and she shuddered. 

‘Never!' he almost shouted; ‘nothing shall take 
you away. We shall work here together.’ 

‘Ah, if we could, if we only could,' she said 
piteously. 

‘Why not?' he demanded fiercely. 

‘ You will send me away. You will say it is right 
for me to go,' she replied sadly. 

‘Do we not love each other?’ was his impatient 
answer. 

‘Ah I yes, love,' she said; ‘ but love is not all.' 

‘No!’ cried Craig; ‘ but love is the best.’ 

‘ Yes! ' she said sadly; love is the best, and it is 
for love’s sake we will do the best.’ 

‘ There is no better work than here. Surely this 
is best,' and he pictured his plans before her. She 
listened eagerly. 

‘Oh! if it should be right,' she cried, ‘1 will do 
what you say. You are good, you are wise, you 
^aJl tell me.' 


238 


Biack Rock 


She could not have recalled him better. He 
stood silent some moments, then burst out pas- 
sionately — 

‘Why then has love come to us? We did not 
seek it. Surely love is of God. Does God mock 
us ?’ 

He threw himself into his chair, pouring out his 
words of passionate protestation. She listened, 
smiling, then came to him and, touching his hair as 
a mother might her child’s, said — 

‘Oh, I am very happy! 1 was afraid you would 
not care, and 1 could not bear to go that way.' 

‘You shall not go,’ he cried aloud, as if in pain. 
‘Nothing can make that right.’ 

But she only said, ‘You shall tell me to-morrow. 
You cannot see to-night, ^ut you will see, and you 
will tell me.’ 

He stood up and, holding both her hands, looked 
long into her eyes, then turned abruptly away and 
went out. 

She stood where he left her for some moments, 
her face radiant, and her hands pressed upon her 
heart. Then she came toward my room. She 
found me busy with my painting, but as I looked 
up and met her eyes she flushed slightly, and 
SKiid — 


The Two Catls 


5^9 


M quite forgot you.* 

'So it appeared to me.' 

'You heard ?’ 

‘And saw/ I replied boldly. 'It would have 
been rude to interrupt, you see.’ 

'Oh, I am so glad and thankful.' 

Yes; it was rather considerate of me.* 

'Oh, I don't mean that,’ the flush deepening; ‘I 
am glad you know.’ 

'I have known some time.’ 

' How could you ? I only knew to-day myself.’ 
have eyes.' She flushed again. 

‘Do you mean that people — ’ she began anx- 
iously. 

'No; i am not "people.” I have eyes, and my 
eyes have been opened.’ 

' Opened ? ’ 

'Yes, by love.’ 

Then I told her openly how, weeks ago, I strug- 
gled with my heart and mastered it, for 1 saw it was 
vain to love her, because she loved a better man 
who loved her in return. She looked at me shyly 
and said — 

‘ I am sorry.’ 

‘Don’t worry,’ I said cheerfully. ‘ I didn’t break 
my heart, you know; 1 stopped it in time.* 




Black Rock 


'Oh!* she said, slightly disappointed; then her 
lips began to twitch, and she went off into a fit of 
hysterical laughter. 

'Forgive me,’ she said humbly; ‘but you speak 
as if it had been a fever.’ 

‘Fever is nothing to it,’ I said solemnly. ‘It was 
a near thing.’ At which she went off again. 1 was 
glad to see her laugh. It gave me time to recover 
my equilibrium, and it relieved her intense emo- 
tional strain. So I rattled on some nonsense about 
Craig and myself till I saw she was giving no heed, 
but thinking her own thoughts: and what these 
were it was not hard to guess. 

Suddenly she broke in upon my talk — 

‘ He will tell me that I must go from him.* 

‘I hope he is no such fool,’ I said emphatically 
and somewhat rudely, I fear; for 1 confess 1 was 
impatient with the very possibility of separation for 
these two, to whom love meant so much. Some 
people take this sort of thing easily and some not 
so easily; but love for a woman like this comes 
once only to a man, and then he carries it with him 
through the length of his life, and warms his heart 
with it in death. And when a man smiles or sneers 
at such love as this, I pity him, and say no word, 
for my speech would be in an unknown tongue. 


The Two Calls 


241 


So my heart was sore as I sat looking up at this 
woman who stood before me, overflowing with 
the joy of her new love, and dully conscious of the 
coming pain. But 1 soon found it was vain to urge 
my opinion that she should remain and share the 
work and life of the man she loved. She only an- 
swered — 

‘You will help him all you can, for it will hurt 
him to have me go.’ 

The quiver in her voice took out all the anger 
from my heart, and before 1 knew 1 had pledged 
myself to do all 1 could to help him. 

But when 1 came upon him that night, sitting 
in the light of his fire, 1 saw he must be let alone. 
Some battles we fight side by side, with comrades 
cheering us and being cheered to victory; but there 
are fights we may not share, and these are deadly 
fights where lives are lost and won. So 1 could 
only lay my hand upon his shoulder without a 
word. He looked up quickly, read my face, and 
said, with a groan — 

You know ?’ 

‘ 1 could not help it. But why groan ?’ 

‘She will think it right to go,' he said despair- 
ingly. 

‘Then you must think for her; you must 


242 Black Rock 

bring some common- sense lo bear upon the ques- 
tion.’ 

M cannot see clearly yet,' he said; ‘the light will 
come.' 

‘ May I show you how I see it ? ' 1 asked. 

‘Go on,’ he said. 

For an hour I talked, eloquently, even vehemently 
urging the reason and right of my opinion. She 
would be doing no more than every woman does, 
no more than she did before; her mother-in-law 
had a comfortable home, all that wealth could pro- 
cure, good servants, and friends; the estates could 
be managed without her personal supervision ; after 
a few years’ work here they would go east for 
little Marjorie’s education ; why should two lives be 
broken ? — and so I went on. 

He listened carefully, even eagerly. 

‘You make a good case,’ he said, with a slight 
smile. ‘I will take time. Perhaps you are right. 
The light will come. Surely it will come. But,’ 
and here he sprang up and stretched his arms to 
full length above his head, ‘I am not sorry; what- 
ever comes I am not sorry. It is great to have her 
love, but greater to love her as 1 do. Thank God! 
nothing can take that away. I am willing, glad to 
suffer for the joy of loving her.’ 


The Two Calls 


243 

Next morning, before I was awake, he was gone, 
leaving a note for me: — 

*My dear Connor, — I am due at the Landing. 
When I see you again I think my way will be clear. 
Now all is dark. At times I am a coward, and 
often, as you sometimes kindly inform me, an ass; 
but I hope I may never become a mule. 

* I am willing to be led, or want to be, at any 
rate. I must do the best — not second best — for 
her, for me. The best only is God’s will. What 
else would you have ? Be good to her these days, 
dear old fellow. — Yours, Craig.’ 

How often cnose words have braced me he will 
never know, but I am a better man for them : * The 
best only is God’s will. What else would you 
have?’ I resolved I would rage and fret no more, 
and that I would worry Mrs. Mavor with no more 
argument or expostulation, but, as my friend had 
asked, ‘ Be good to her/ 


Love is Not All 


245 


1 


CHAPTER Xlf 


LOVE IS NOT ALL 

Those days when we were waiting Craig’s return 
we spent in the woods or on the mountain sides, or 
dowm in the canyon beside the stream that danced 
down to meet the Black Rock river, I talking and 
sketching and reading, and she listening and dream- 
ing, with often a happy smile upon her face. But 
there were moments when a cloud of shuddering 
fear would sweep the smile away, and then I 
would talk of Craig till the smile came back again. 

But the woods and the mountains and the river 
were her best, her wisest, friends during those 
days. How sweet the ministry of the woods to 
her! The trees were in their new summer leaves, 
fresh and full of life. They swayed and rustled 
above us, flinging their interlacing shadows upon 
us, and their swaying and their rustling soothed 
and comforted like the voice dnd touch of a mother. 
And the mountains, too, in all the glory of their 
varying robes of blues and purples, stood calmly, 
solemnly about us, uplifting our souls into regions 
of rest. The changing lights and shadows flitted 
247 


248 


Black Rock 


swiftly over their rugged fronts, but left them ever 
as before in their steadfast majesty. ‘ God’s in His 
heaven.’ What would you have? And ever the 
little river sang its cheerful courage, fearing not the 
great mountains that threatened to bar its passage 
to the sea. Mrs. Mavor heard the song and her 
courage rose. 

‘We too shall find our way,’ she said, and 1 be- 
lieved her. 

But through these days 1 could not make her out, 
and I found myself studying her as 1 might a new 
acquaintance. Years had fallen from her; she was 
a girl again, full of young warm life. She was as 
sweet as before, but there was a soft shyness over 
her, a half-shamed, half-frank consciousness in her 
face, a glad light in her eyes that made her all new 
to me. Her perfect trust in Craig was touching to 
see. 

‘ He will tell me what to do,' she would say, till I 
began to realise how impossible it would be for 
him to betray such trust, and be anything but true 
to the best. 

So much did 1 dread Craig’s home-coming, that I 
sent for Graeme and old man Nelson, who was 
more and more Graeme’s trusted counsellor and 
friend. They were both highly excited by the 


Love IS Not All 


249 


story I had to tell, for 1 thought it best to tell them 
all; but 1 was not a little surprised and disgusted 
that they did not see the matter in my light. In 
vain 1 protested against the madness of allowing 
anything to send these two from each other. 
Graeme summed up the discussion in his own em- 
phatic way, but with an earnestness in his words 
not usual with him. 

‘ Craig will know better than any of us what is 
/ight to do, and he will do that, and no man can 
turn him from it; and,’ he added, M should be sorry 
to try.' 

Then my wrath rose, and 1 cried — 

* It’s a tremendous shame! They love each other. 
Y’ou are talking sentimental humbug and nonsense!' 

‘He must do the right,' said Nelson in his deep, 
quiet voice. 

‘ Right! Nonsense! By what right does he send 
from him the woman he loves ?' 

‘ “ He pleased not Himself," ' quoted Nelson rev- 
erently. 

' ‘Nelson is right,' said Graeme. ‘I should not 
like to see him weaken.’ 

‘ Look here,' I stormed; ‘ I didn’t bring you men 
to back him up in his nonsense. I thought you 
could keep your heads level.' 


250 


Black Rock 


‘Now, Connor,' said Graeme, ‘don't rage-leave 
that for the heathen ; it's bad form, and useless be- 
sides. Craig will walk his way where his light 
falls ; and by all that's holy, 1 should hate to see 
him fail; for if he weakens like the rest of us my 
North Star will have dropped from my sky.’ 

‘Nice selfish spirit,' 1 muttered. 

‘ Entirely so. I’m not a saint, but 1 feel like steer- 
ing by one when 1 see him.’ 

When after a v/eek had gone, Craig rode up one 
morning to his shack door, his face told me 
that he had fought his fight and had not been 
beaten. He had ridden all night and was ready to 
drop with weariness. 

‘Connor, old boy,' he said, putting out his hand; 
‘ I’rn rather played. There was a bad row at the 
Landing. 1 have just closed poor Colley's eyes. It 
was awfuL I must get sleep. Look after Dandy, 
will you, like a good chap ?’ 

‘ Oh, Dandy be hanged! ’ 1 said, for 1 knew it was 
not the fight, nor the watching, not the long ride 
that had shaken his iron nerve and given him that 
face. ‘Go in and lie down; I’ll bring you some- 
thing.’ 

‘Wake me in the afternoon,' he said; ‘she is 
waiting. Perhaps you will go to her’— his lips 


Love is Not All 


251 


quivered — ‘my nerve is rather gone.' Then with 
a very wan smile he added, ‘ I am giving you a lot 
of trouble.’ 

‘You go to thunder! ' I burst out, for my throat 
was hot and sore with grief for him. 

‘1 think rd rather go to sleep,' he replied, still 
smiling. I could not speak, and was glad of the 
chance of being alone with Dandy. 

When I came in 1 found him sitting with his head 
in his arms upon the table fast asleep. I made him 
tea, forced him to take a warm bath, and sent him 
to bed, while I went to Mrs. Mavor. I went with a 
fearful heart, but that was because I had forgotten 
the kind of woman she was. 

She was standing in the light of the window 
waiting for me. Her face was pale but steady, 
there was a proud light in her fathomless eyes, a 
slight smile parted her lips, and she carried her head 
like a queen. 

‘Come in,' she said. ‘You need not fear to tell 
me. I saw him ride home. He has not failed, 
thank God! I am proud of him; I knew he would 
be true. He loves me’ — she drew in her breath 
sharply, and a faint colour tinged her cheek—* but 
he knows love is not all — ah, love is not all I Oh I 1 
am glad and proud!* 


252 


Black Rock 


‘Glad!' I gasped, amazed. 

‘You would not have him prove faithless! ’ she 
said with proud defiance. 

*Oh, it is high sentimental nonsense,’ I could not 
help saying. 

‘You should not say so,’ she replied, and her 
voice rang clear. ‘Honour, faith, and duty are 
sentiments, but they are not nonsense.’ 

In spite of my rage 1 was lost in amazed admira- 
tion of the high spirit of the woman who stood up 
so straight before me. But, as 1 told how worn and 
broken he was, she listened with changing colour 
and swelling bosom, her proud courage all gone, 
and only love, anxious and pitying, in her eyes. 

‘ Shall 1 go to him ? ’ she asked with timid eager- 
ness and deepening colour. 

‘ He is sleeping. He said he would come to you,’ 
1 replied. 

‘I shall wait for him,’ she said softly, and the 
tenderness in her tone went straight to my heart, 
and it seemed to me a man might suffer much to be 
loved with love such as this. 

In the early afternoon Graeme came to her. She 
met him with both hands outstretched, saying in a 
How voice — 

M am very happy.’ 


Love is Not All 


253 


* Are you sure ? * he asked anxiously. 

‘Oh, yes/ she said, but her voice was like a sob; 
‘quite, quite sure.’ 

They talked long together till I saw that Craig 
must soon be coming, and I called Graeme away. 
He held her hands, looking steadily into her eyes 
and said — 

‘You are better even than I thought; I’m going 
to be a better man.’ 

Her eves filled with tears, but her smile did not 
fade as she answered — 

‘Yes! you will be a good man, and God will give 
you work to do.’ 

He bent his head over her hands and stepped 
back from her as from a queen, but he spoke no 
word till we came to Craig's door. Then he said 
with humility that seemed strange in him, ‘ Connor, 
that is great, to conquer oneself. It is worth while. 
I am going to try.’ 

I would not have missed his meeting with Craig. 
Nelson was busy with tea. Craig was writing near 
the window. He looked up as Graeme came in, 
and nodded an easy good-evening; but Graeme 
strode to him and, putting one hand on his shoul- 
der, held out his other for Craig to take. 

After a moment’s surprise, Craig rose to his feet, 


254 


Black Rock 


and, facing him squarely, took the offered hand in 
both of his and held it fast without a word. 
Graeme was the first to speak, and his voice was 
deep with emotion — 

'You are a great man, a good man. I’d give 
something to have your grit.’ 

Poor Craig stood looking at him, not daring to 
speak for some moments, then he said quietly — 

'Not good nor great, but, thank God, not quite a 
traitor.’ 

'Good man!’ went on Graeme, patting him on 
the shoulder. ' Good man! But it’s tough.’ 

Craig sat down quickly, saying, ' Don’t do that, 
old chap ! ’ 

1 went up with Craig to Mrs. Mavor’s door. She 
did not hear us coming, but stood near the window 
gazing up at the mountains. She was dressed in 
some rich soft stuff, and wore at her breast a bunch 
of wild-flowers. I had never seen her so beautiful. 
I did not wonder that Craig paused with his foot 
upon the threshold to look at her. She turned 
and saw us. With a glad cry, 'Oh! my darling; 
you have come to me,* she came with outstretched 
arms. I turned and fled, but the cry and the vision 
were long with me. 

It was decided that night that Mrs. Mavor should 


Love is Not All 


^55 


go the next week. A miner and his wife were go- 
ing east, and I too would join the party. 

The camp went into mourning at the news; but 
it was understood that any display of grief before 
Mrs. Mavor was bad form. She was not to be an- 
noyed. 

But when I suggested that she should leave 
quietly, and avoid the pain of saying good-bye, she 
flatly refused — 

‘ I must say good-bye to every man. They love 
me and I love them.' 

It was decided, too, at first, that there should be 
nothing in the way of a testimonial, but when Craig 
found out that the men were coming to her with all 
sorts of extraordinary gifts, he agreed that it would 
be better that they should unite in one gift. So it 
was agreed that 1 should buy a ring for her. And 
were it not that the contributions were strictly lim- 
ited to one dollar, the purse that Slavin handed her 
when Shaw read the address at the farewell supper 
would have been many times filled with the gold 
that was pressed upon the committee. There were 
no speeches at the supper, except one by myself in 
reply on Mrs. Mavor’s behalf. She had given me 
the words to say, and 1 was thoroughly prepared, 
else I should not have got through. I began in the 


256 


Black Rock 


usual way: *Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentlemen, 
Mrs. Mavor is—’ but 1 got no further, for at the 
mention of her name the men stood on the chairs 
and yelled until they could yell no more. There 
were over two hundred and fifty of them, and the 
effect was overpowering. But I got through my 
speech. 1 remember it well. It began — 

‘ Mrs. Mavor is greatly touched by this mark of 
your love, and she will wear your ring always with 
pride.’ And it ended with — 

‘ She has one request to make, that you will be 
true to the League, and that you stand close about 
the man who did most to make it. She wishes me 
to say that however far away she may have to go, 
she is leaving her heart in Black Rock, and she can 
think of no greater joy than to come back to you 
again.’ 

Then they had * The Sweet By and By,’ but the 
men would not join in the refrain, unwilling to lose 
a note of the glorious voice they loved to hear. 
Before the last verse she beckoned to me. I went 
to her standing by Craig’s side as he played for her. 
‘Ask them to sing,’ she entreated; ‘I cannot bear 
it.’ 

* Mrs. Mavor wishes you to sing in the refrain,’ I 
said, and at once the men sat up and cleared their 


Love is Not All 


^57 


throats. The singing was not good, but at the first 
sound of the hoarse notes of the men Craig’s bead 
went down over the organ, for he was thinking I 
suppose of the days before them when they would 
long in vain for that thrilling voice that soared high 
over their own hoarse tones. And after the voices 
died away he kept on playing till, half turning to- 
ward him, she sang alone once more the refrain in 
a voice low and sweet and tender, as if for him 
alone. And so he took it, for he smiled up at her 
his old smile full of courage and full of love. 

Then for one whole hour she stood saying good- 
bye to those rough, gentle-hearted men whose in- 
spiration to goodness she had been for five years. 
It was very wonderful and very quiet. It was un- 
derstood that there was to be no nonsense, and Abe 
had been heard to declare that he would ‘throw out 
any cotton-backed fool who couldn’t hold himself 
down,’ and further, he had enjoined them to re- 
member that ‘her arm wasn’t a pump-handle.’ 

At last they were all gone, all but her guard of 
honour— Shaw, Vernon W inton, Geordie, Nixon, 
Abe, Nelson, Craig, and myself. 

This was the real farewell; for, though in the 
early light of the next morning two hundred men 
stood silent about the stage, and then as it moved 


Black Ptock 


*58 

out waved their hats and yelled madly, this was the 
last touch they had of her hand. Her place was up 
on the driver's seat between Abe and Mr. Craig, 
who held little Marjorie on his knee. The rest of 
the guard of honour were to follow with Graeme's 
team. It was Winton's fine sense that kept Graeme 
from following them close. ‘ Let her go out alone,' 
he said, and so we held back and watched her go. 

She stood with her back toward Abe’s plunging 
four-horse team, and steadying herself with one 
hand on Abe's shoulder, gazed down upon us. Her 
head was bare, her lips parted in a smile, her eyes 
glowing with their own deep light; and so, facing 
us, erect and smiling, she drove away, waving us 
farewell till Abe swung his team into the canyon 
road and we saw her no more. A sigh shuddered 
through the crowd, and, with a sob in his voice, 
Winton said: ‘God help us all.' 

I close my eyes and see it all again. The waving 
crowd of dark-faced men, the plunging horses, and, 
high up beside the driver, the swaying, smiling, 
waving figure, and about all the mountains, framing 
the picture with their dark sides and white peaks 
tipped with the gold of the rising sun. It is a 
picture I love to look upon, albeit it calls up an- 
other that I can never see but through tears. 


Love is Not All 


259 


I look across a strip of ever-widening water, ai a 
group of men upon the wharf, standing with heads 
uncovered, every man a hero, though not a man of 
them suspects it, least of all the man who stands in 
front, strong, resolute, self-conquered. And, gaz- 
ing long, I think I see him turn again to his place 
among the men of the mountains, not forgetting, 
but every day remembering the great love that came 
to him, and remembering, too, that love is not all. 
It is then the tears come. 

But for that picture two of us at least are better 
men to dav. 






> Jr 




-V a * >1 VJf ^JBP 


1 

1 


How Nelson Came Home 


CHAPTER XIH 

HOW NELSON CAME HOME 

Through the long summer the mountains and the 
pines were with me. And through the winter, too, 
busy as I was filling in my Black Rock sketches for 
the railway people who would still persist in order- 
ing them by the dozen, the memory of that stirring 
life would come over me, and once more I would be 
among the silent pines and the mighty snow-peaked 
mountains. And before me would appear the red- 
shirted shanty men or dark-faced miners, great, free, 
bold fellows, driving me almost mad with the desire 
to seize and fix those swiftly changing groups of 
picturesque figures. At such times 1 would drop my 
sketch, and with eager brush seize a group, a face, a 
figure, and that is how my studio comes to be filled 
with the men of Black Rock. There they are all 
about me. Graeme and the men from the woods, 
Sandy, Baptiste, the Campbells, and in many atti- 
tudes and groups old man Nelson; Craig, too, and 
his miners, Shaw, Geordie, Nixon, and poor old Billy 

and the keeper of the League saloon. 

263 


264 


Black Rock 


It seemed as if I lived among them, and the ilki- 
sion was greatly helped by the vivid letters Graeme 
sent me from time to time. Brief notes came now 
and then from Craig too, to whom I had sent a 
faithful account of how I had brought Mrs. Mavor 
to her ship, and of how I had watched her sail away 
with none too brave a face, as she held up her hand 
that bore the miners’ ring, and smiled with that deep 
light in her eyes. Ah! those eyes have driven me 
to despair and made me fear that I am no great 
painter after all, in spite of what my friends tell me 
who come in to smoke my good cigars and praise my 
brush. 1 can get the brow and hair, and mouth and 
pose, but the eyes! the eyes elude me — and the 
faces of Mrs. Mavor on my wall, that the men praise 
and rave over, are not such as I could show to any 
of the men from the mountains. 

Graeme’s letters tell me chiefly about Craig and 
his doings, and about old man Nelson; while from 
Craig I hear about Graeme, and how he and Nelson 
are standing at his back, and doing what they can 
to fill the gap that never can be filled. The three 
are much together, I can see, and I am glad for 
them all, but chiefly for Craig, whose face, grief- 
stricken but resolute, and often gentle as a woman’s, 
will not leave me nor let me rest in peace. 


How Nelson Came Home 265 

The note of thanks he sent me was ^’^^tirely 
characteristic. There were no heroics, nr..jch less 
pining or self-pity. It was simple and marJy, not 
ignoring the pain but making much of the joy. 
And then they had their work to do. That note, so 
clear, so manly, so nobly sensible, stiffens my back 
yet at times. 

In the spring came the startling news that Black 
Rock would soon be no more. The mines were to 
close down on April i. The company, having 
allured the confiding public with enticing descrip- 
tions of marvellous drifts, veins, assays, and pros- 
pects, and having expended vast sums of the pub- 
lic’s money in developing the mines till the 
assurance of their reliability was absolutely final, 
calmly shut down and vanished. With their 
vanishing vanishes Black Rock, not without loss 
and much deep cursing on the part of the men 
brought some hundreds of miles to aid the com- 
pany in its extraordinary and wholly inexplicable 
game. 

Personally it grieved me to think that my plan of 
returning to Black Rock could never be carried out 
It was a great compensation, however, that the three 
men most representative to me of that life were 
soon to visit me actually in my own home and 


266 


Black Rock 


den. Graeme’s letter said that in one month 
they might be expected to appear. At least he 
and Nelson were soon to come, and Craig would 
soon follow. 

On receiving the great news, I at once looked up 
young Nelson and his sister, and we proceeded to 
celebrate the joyful prospect with a specially good 
dinner. I found the greatest delight in picturing 
the joy and pride of the old man in his children, 
whom he had not seen for fifteen or sixteen years. 
The mother had died some five years before, then 
the farm was sold, and the brother and sister came 
into the city; and any father might be proud of 
them. The son was a well-made young fellow, 
handsome enough, thoughtful, and solid-looking. 
The girl reminded me of her father. The same 
resolution v/as seen in mouth and jaw, and the same 
passion slumbered in the dark grey eyes. She was 
not beautiful, but she carried herself well, and one 
would always look at her twice. It would be worth 
something to see the meeting between father and 
daughter. 

But fate, the greatest artist of us all, takes little 
count of the careful drawing and the bright colour- 
ing of our fancy’s pictures, but with rude hand 
deranges all, and with one swift sweep paints out 


How Nelson Came Home 267 


the bright and paints m the dark. And this trick 
he served me when, one June night, after long and 
anxious waiting for some word from the west, my 
door suddenly opened and Graeme walked in upon 
me like a spectre, grey and voiceless. My shout of 
welcome was choked back by the look in his face, 
and 1 could only gaze at him and wait for his word. 
He gripped my hand, tried to speak, but failed to 
make words come, 

‘Sit down, old man/ 1 said, pushing him into my 
chair, ‘ and take your time.’ 

He obeyed, looking up at me with burning, - 
sleepless eyes. My heart was sore for his misery^ 
and 1 said: ‘Don’t mind, old chap; it can’t be 
so awfully bad. You’re here safe and sound 
at any rate,* and so I v/ent on to give him 
time. But he shuddered and looked round and 
groaned. 

‘ Now look here, Graeme, let’s have it. When did 
you land here? Where is Nelson? Why didn’t 
you bring him up ? ’ 

‘He is at the station in his coffin,* he answered 
slowly. 

‘ In his coffin ? ' 1 echoed, my beautiful pictures 
all vanishing. ‘ How was it ? ’ 

‘Through my cursed folly,’ he groaned bitterly. 


268 


Black Rock 


‘What happened?’ I asked. But ignoring my 
question, he said : ‘ I must see his children. I have 
not siept for four nights. I hardly know what I am 
doing; but I can’t rest till I see his children. I prom- 
ised him. Get them for me.’ 

‘ To-morrow will do. Go to sleep now, and we 
shall arrange everything to-morrow,’ 1 urged. 

‘Nol’ he said fiercely; ‘to-night — now I’ 

In half an hour they were listening, pale and 
grief-stricken, to the story of their father’s death. 

Poor Graeme was relentless in his self-condem- 
nation as he told how, through his ‘cursed folly,’ 
old Nelson was killed. The three, Craig, Graeme, 
and Nelson, had come as far as Victoria together. 
There they left Craig, and came on to San Fran- 
cisco. In an evil hour Graeme met a companion of 
other and evil days, and it was not long till the old 
fever came upon him. 

In vain Nelson warned and pleaded. The re- 
action from the monotony and poverty of camp 
life to the excitement and luxury of the San Fran- 
cisco gaming palaces swung Graeme quite off his 
feet, and all that Nelson could do was to follow 
from place to place and keep watch. 

‘ And there he would sit,' said Graeme in a hard, 
bitter voice, ‘waiting and v/atching often till the 


How Nelson Came Home 269 

grey morning light, while my madness held me fast 
to the table. One night,' here he paused a moment, 
put his face in his hands and shuddered; but quickly 
he was master of himself again, and went on in the 
same hard voice — ‘ One night my partner and I were 
playing two men who had done us up before. I 
knew they were cheating, but could not detect them. 
Game after game they won, till I was furious at my 
stupidity in not being able to catch them. Happen- 
ing to glance at Nelson in the corner, I caught a 
meaning look, and looking again, he threw me a 
signal. 1 knew at once what the fraud was, and 
next game charged the fellow with it. He gave me 
the lie; I struck his mouth, but before I could draw 
my gun, his partner had me by the arms. What 
followed I hardly know. While I was struggling 
to get free, I saw him reach for his weapon ; but, 
as he drew it. Nelson sprang across the table, and 
bore him down. When the row was over, three 
men lay on the floor. One was Nelson; he took 
the shot meant for me.' 

Again the story paused. 

‘ And the man that shot him ? ‘ 

I started at the intense fierceness in the voice, 
and, looking upon the girl, saw her eyes blazing 
with a terrible light. 


270 


Black Rock 


‘ He is dead/ answered Graeme indifferently. 

‘ You killed him ?' she asked eagerly. 

Graeme looked at her curiously, and answered 
slowly — 

‘ 1 did not mean to. He came at me. I struck 
him harder than I knew. He never moved.* 

She drew a sigh of satisfaction, and waited. 

‘ 1 got him to a private ward, had the best doctor 
in the city, and sent for Craig to Victoria. For 
three days we thought he v/ould live — he was keen 
to get home; but by the time Craig came we had 
given up hope. Oh, but I was thankful to see 
Craig come in, and the joy in the old man’s eyes 
was beautiful to see. There was no pain at last, 
and no fear. He would not allow me to reproach 
myself, saying over and over, “You would have 
done the same for me” — as I would, fast enough — 
“and it is better me than you. I am old and done; 
you will do much good yet for the boys.” And 
he kept looking at me till 1 could only promise to do 
my best. 

' But I am glad I told him how much good he 
had done me during the last year, for he seemed to 
think that too good to be true. And when Craig 
told him how he had helped the boys in the camp, 
and how Sandy and Baptiste and the Campbells 


How Nelson Came Home 271 

would always be better men for his life among 
them, the old man’s face actually shone, as if light 
were coming through. And with surprise and joy 
he kept on saying, “Do you think so? Do you 
think so ? Perhaps so, perhaps so.” At the last he 
talked of Christmas night at the camp. You were 
there, you remember. Craig had been holding a 
service, and something happened, I don’t know 
what, but they both knew.' 

M know,’ I said, and I saw again the picture of 
the old man under the pine, upon his knees in the 
snow, with his face turned up to the stars. 

‘ Whatever it was, it was in his mind at the very 
last, and I can never forget his face as he turned it 
to Craig. One hears of such things: I had often, 
but had never put much faith in them; but joy, 
rapture, triumph, these are what were in his face, 
as he said, his breath coming short, “You said — He 
wouldn’t — fail me — you were right — not once — not 
once — He stuck to me — I’m glad he told me — thank 
God — for you — you showed — me — I’ll see Him — 
and — tell Him — ’ And Craig, kneeling beside him so 
steady — I was behaving like a fool — smiled down 
through his streaming tears into the dim eyes so 
brightly, till they could see no more. Thank him 
for that I He helped the old man through, and he 


272 


Black Rock 


helped me too, that night, thank Godl’ And 
Graeme’s voice, hard till now, broke in a sob. 

He had forgotten us, and was back beside his 
passing friend, and all his self-control could not 
keep back the flowing tears. 

Mt was his life for mine,' he said huskily. 

The brother and sister were quietly weeping, but 
spoke no word, though I knew Graeme was wait- 
ing for them. 

I took up the word, and told of what I had 
known of Nelson, and his influence upon the men 
of Black Rock. They listened eagerly enough, but 
still without speaking. There seemed nothing to 
say, till I suggested to Graeme that he must get 
some rest. Then the girl turned to him, and, im- 
pulsively putting out her hand, said — 

‘ Oh, it is all so sad ; but how can we ever thank 
you ?' 

‘ Thank me! ’ gasped Graeme. ‘ Can you forgive 
me ? I brought him to his death.’ 

‘No, no! You must not say so,' she answered 
hurriedly. ‘You would have done the same for 
him.’ 

‘ God knows 1 would, ’ said Graeme earnestly ; ‘ and 
God bless you for your words! ' And I was thank- 
ful to see the tears start in his dry, burning eyes. 


How Nelson Came Home 273 

We carried him to the old home in the country, 
that he might lie by the side of the wife he had 
loved and wronged. A few friends met us at the 
wayside station, and followed in sad procession 
along the country road, that wound past farms and 
through woods, and at last up to the ascent where 
the quaint, old wooden church, black with the rains 
and snows of many years, stood among its silent 
graves. The little graveyard sloped gently toward 
the setting sun, and from it one could see, far on 
every side, the fields of grain and meadowland that 
wandered off over softly undulating hills to meet 
the maple woods at the horizon, dark, green, and 
cool. Here and there white farmhouses, with great 
barns standing near, looked out from clustering 
orchards. 

Up the grass-grown walk, and through the 
crowding mounds, over which waves, uncut, the 
long, tangling grass, we bear our friend, and let 
him gently down into the kindly bosom of mother 
earth, dark, moist, and warm. The sound of a 
distant cowbell mingles with the voice of the last 
prayer; the clods drop heavily with heart-startling 
echo; the mound is heaped and shaped by kindly 
friends, sharing with one another the task; the long 
rough sods are laid over and patted into place; the 


m 


Black Rock 


old minister takes farewell in a few words of gentle 
sympathy; the brother and sister, with lingering 
looks at the two graves side by side, the old and the 
new, step into the farmer's carriage, and drive 
away; the sexton locks the gate and goes home, 
and we are left outside alone. 

Then we went back and stood by Nelson’s grave. 

After a long silence Graeme spoke. 

* Connor, he did not grudge his life to me — and 1 
think ’ — and here the words came slowly — ‘ 1 under- 
stand now what that means, “ Who loved me and 
gave Himself for me.” ' 

Then taking off his hat, he said reverently, ‘ By 
God’s help Nelson’s life shall not end, but shall go 
on. Yes, old man! ’ looking down upon the grave, 

* I’m with you; ’ and lifting up his face to the calm 
sky, ‘ God help me to be true ’ 

Then he turned and walked briskly away, as one 
might who had pressing business, or as soldiers 
march from a comrade’s grave to a merry tune, not 
that they have forgotten, but they have still to fight. 

And this was the way old man Nelson came 
home. 


Graeme’s New Birth 



CHAPTER XIV 
Graeme's new bjrth 

There was more left in that grave than old man 
Nelson’s dead body. It seemed to me that Graeme 
left part, at least, of his old self there, with his dead 
friend and comrade, in the quiet country church- 
yard. I waited long for the old careless, reckless 
spirit to appear, but he was never the same again. 
The change was unmistakable, but hard to define. 
He seemed to have resolved his life into a definite 
purpose. He was hardly so comfortable a fellow'to 
be with; he made me feel even more lazy and use- 
less than was my wont; but I respected him more, 
and liked him none the less. As a lion he was not 
a success. He would not roar. This was disap- 
pointing to me, and to his friends and mine, who 
had been waiting his return with eager expectation 
of tales of thrilling and bloodthirsty adventure. 

His first days were spent in making right, or as 
nearly right as he could, the break that drove him to 
the west. His old firm (and ! have had more re- 
spect for the humanity of lawyers ever since) be- 
277 


278 


Black Rock 


haved really well. They proved the restoration of 
their confidence in his integrity and ability by offer- 
ing him a place in the firm, which, however, he 
would not accept. Then, when he felt clean, as he 
said, he posted off home, taking me with him. 
During the railway journey of four hours he hardly 
spoke; but when we had left the town behind, and 
had fairly got upon the country road that led toward 
the home ten miles away, his speech came to him in 
a great flow. His spirits ran over. He was like a 
boy returning from his first college term'. His very 
face wore the boy’s open, innocent, earnest look 
that used to attract men to him in his first college 
year. His delight in the fields and woods, in the 
sweet country air and the sunlight, was without 
bound. How often had we driven this road to- 
gether in the old daysl 

Every turn was familiar. The swamp where the 
tamaracks stood straight and slim out of their beds 
of moss ; the brule, as we used to call it, where the 
pine-stumps, huge and blackened, were half-hidden 
by the new growth of poplars and soft maples; the 
big hill, where we used to get out and walk when 
the roads were bad ; the orchards, where the harvest 
apples were best and most accessible — all had their 
memories. 


Graeme’s New Birth 


279 


It was one of those perfect afternoons that so 
often come in the early Canadian summer, before 
Nature grows weary with the heat. The white 
gravel road was trimmed on either side with turf of 
living green, close cropped by the sheep that wan- 
dered in flocks along its whole length. Beyond the 
picturesque snake-fences stretched the fields of 
springing grain, of varying shades of green, with 
here and there a dark brown patch, marking a tur- 
nip field or summer fallow, and far back were the 
woods of maple and beech and elm, with here and 
there the tufted top of a mighty pine, the lonely 
representative of a vanished race, standing clear 
above the humbler trees. 

As we drove through the big swamp, where the 
yawning, haunted gully plunges down to its 
gloomy depths, Graeme reminded me of that night 
when our horse saw something in that same gully, 
and refused to go past; and 1 felt again, though it 
was broad daylight, something of the grue that 
shivered down my back, as I saw in the moonlight 
the gleam of a white thing far through the pine 
trunks. 

As we came nearer home the houses became fa- 
miliar. Every house had its tale: we had eaten or 
slept in most of them; we had sampled apples, and 


28 o 


Black Rock 


cherries, and plums from their orchards, openly as 
guests, or secretly as marauders, under cover of 
night — the more delightful way, I fear. Ah! happy 
days, with these innocent crimes and fleeting re- 
morses, how bravely we faced them, and how gaily 
we lived them, and how yearningly we look back 
at them now! The sun was just dipping into the 
tree-tops of the distant woods behind as we came 
to the top of the last hill that overlooked the valley, 
in which lay the village of Riverdale. Wooded 
hills stood about it on three sides, and, where the 
hills faded out, there lay the mill-pond sleeping and 
smiling in the sun. Through the village ran the 
white road, up past the old frame church, and on to 
the white manse standing among the trees. That 
was Graeme’s home, and mine too, for I had never 
known another worthy of the name. We held up 
our team to look down over the valley, with its 
rampart of wooded hills, its shining pond, and its 
nestling village, and on past to the church and the 
white manse, hiding among the trees. The beauty, 
the peace, the warm, loving homeliness of the scene 
came about our hearts, but, being men, we could 
find no words. 

‘Let’s go,’ cried Graeme, and down the hill we 
tore and rocked and swayed to the amazement ea 


Graeme’s New Birth 281 

the steady team, whose education from the earliest 
years had impressed upon their minds the crimi- 
nality of attempting to do anything but walk care- 
fully down a hill, at least for two-thirds of the way. 
Through the village, in a cloud of dust, we swept, 
catching a glimpse of a well-known face here and 
there, and flinging a salutation as we passed, leav- 
ing the owner of the face rooted to his place in as- 
tonishment at the sight of Graeme whirling on in 
his old-time, well-known reckless manner. Only 
old Dune. M’Leod was equal to the moment, for as 
Graeme called out, ‘ Hello, Dune. ! ' the old man 
lifted up his hands, and called back in an awed 
voice: ‘ Bless my soul! is it yourself ?’ 

‘Stands his whisky well, poor old chap!’ was 
Graeme's comment. 

As we neared the church he pulled up his team, 
and we went quietly past the sleepers there, then 
again on the full run down the gentle slope, over 
the little brook, and up to the gate. He had hardly 
got his team pulled up before, flinging me the lines, 
he was out over the wheel, for coming down the 
walk, with her hands lifted high, was a dainty little 
lady, with the face of an angel. In a moment 
Graeme had her in his arms. I heard the faint cry, 
'My boy, my boy,' and got down on the other side 


282 


Black Rock 


to attend to my off horse, surprised to find my 
hands trembling and my eyes full of tears. Back 
upon the steps stood an old gentleman, with white 
hair and flowing beard, handsome, straight, and 
stately — Graeme’s father, waiting his turn. 

‘Welcome home, my lad,' was his greeting, as 
he kissed his son, and the tremor of his voice, and 
the sight of the two men kissing each other, like 
women, sent me again to my horses’ heads. 

‘There’s Connor, mother!’ shouted out Graeme, 
and the dainty little lady, in her black silk and white 
lace, came out to me quickly, with outstretched 
hands. 

‘You, too, are welcome home,’ she said, and 
kissed me. 

1 stood with my hat off, saying something about 
being glad to come, but wishing that I could get 
away before 1 should make quite a fool of myself. 
For as 1 looked down upon that beautiful face, pale, 
except for a faint flush upon each faded cheek, and 
read the story of pain endured and conquered, and 
as I thought of all the long years of waiting and 
of vain hoping, 1 found my throat dry and sore, 
and the words would not come. But her quick 
sense needed no words, and she came to my 
help. 


Graeme’s New Birth 283 

* You will find Jack at the stable,’ she said smil- 
ing; ‘ he ought to have been here.’ 

The stable! Why had I not thought of that be- 
fore? Thankfully now my words came — 

‘Yes, certainly. I’ll find him, Mrs. Graeme. 1 
suppose he’s as much of a scapegrace as ever,' and 
off I went to look up Graeme’s young brother, who 
had given every promise in the old days of develop- 
ing into as stirring a rascal as one could desire ; but 
who, as I found out later, had not lived these years 
in his mother’s home for nothing. 

‘Oh, Jack’s a good boy,’ she answered, smiling 
again, as she turned toward the other two, now 
waiting for her upon the walk. 

The week that followed was a happy one for us 
all; but for the mother it was full to the brim with 
joy. Her sweet face was full of content, and in her 
eyes rested a great, peace. Our days were spent 
driving about among the hills, or strolling through 
the maple woods, or down into the tamarack 
swamp, where the pitcher plants and the swamp 
lilies and the marigold waved above the deep moss. 
In the evenings we sat under the trees on the lawn 
till the stars came out and the night dews drove us 
in. Like two lovers, Graeme and his mother would 
wander off together, leaving Jack and me to each 


2^4 


Black Rock 


other. Jack was reading for divinity, and was 
really a fine, manly fellow, with all his brother’s turn 
for rugby, and 1 took to him amazingly; but after 
the day was over we would gather about the sup- 
per-table, and the talk would be of all things under 
heaven — art, football, theology. The mother would 
lead in all. How quick she was, how bright her 
fancy, how subtle her intellect, and through all a 
gentle grace, very winning and beautiful to see! 

Do what I would, Graeme would talk little of the 
mountains and his life there. 

‘My lion will not roar, Mrs. Graeme,’ S com- 
plained; ‘ he simply will not.’ 

‘You should twist his tail,’ said Jack. 

‘That seems to be the difficulty. Jack,’ said his 
mother, ‘to get hold of his tale.’ 

‘Oh, mother,’ groaned Jack; ‘ you never did such 
a thing before! How could you? Is it this baleful 
Western influence?’ 

‘ I shall reform. Jack,’ she replied brightly. 

‘But, seriously, Graeme,’ I remonstrated, ‘you 
ought to tell your people of your life — that free, 
glorious life in the mountains.' 

‘Free! Glorious! To some men, perhaps!’ said 
Graeme, and then fell into silence. 

But I saw Graeme as a new man the night he 


Graeme’s New Birth 285 

talked theology with his rather. The old minister 
was a splendid Calvinist, of heroic type, and as he 
discoursed of God’s sovereignty and election, his 
face glowed and his voice rang out. 

Graeme listened intently, now and then putting in 
a question, as one would a keen knife-thrust into 
a foe. But the old man knew his ground, and 
moved easily among his ideas, demolishing the 
enemy as he appeared, with jaunty grace. In the 
full flow of his triumphant argument, Graeme 
turned to him with sudden seriousness. 

'Look here, father! I was born a Calvinist, and 
I can't see how any one with a level head can hold 
anything else, than that the Almighty has some idea 
as to how He wants to run His universe, and He 
means to carry out His idea, and is carrying it out; 
but what would you do in a case like this ? ’ Then 
he told him the story of poor Billy Breen, his fight 
and his defeat. 

‘ Would you preach election to that chap ? ’ 

The mother’s eyes were shining with tears. 

The old gentleman blew his nose like a trumpet, 
and then said gravely — 

‘ No, my boy, you don’t feed babes with meat. 
But what came to him ? ’ 

Then Graeme asked me to finish the tale. After 


286 


Black Rock 


I had finished the story ot Billy’s final triumph and 
of Craig’s part in it, they sat long silent, till the 
minister, clearing his throat hard and blowing his 
nose more like a trumpet than ever, said with great 
emphasis — 

‘Thank God for such a man in such a place! I 
wish there were more of us like him.’ 

‘ 1 should like to see you out there, sir,’ said 
Graeme admiringly; ‘you’d get them, but you 
wouldn’t have time for election.’ 

‘Yes, yes!’ said his father warmly; ‘I should 
love to have a chance just to preach election to 
these poor lads. Would 1 were twenty years 
younger! ’ 

‘It is worth a man’s life,’ said Graeme earnestly. 
His younger brother turned his face eagerly toward 
the mother. For answer she slipped her hand into 
his and said softly, while her eyes shone like stars — 

‘Some day. Jack, perhaps! God knows.’ But 
Jack only looked steadily at her, smiling a little and 
patting her hand. 

‘You’d shine there, mother,’ said Graeme, smil- 
ing upon her; ‘you’d better come with me.’ She 
started, and said faintly — 

‘ With you?’ It was the first hint he had given 
of his purpose. ‘ You are going back ?’ 


Graeme’s New Birth 


287 


‘ What! as a missionary ? ' said Jack. 

‘Not to preach, jack; I'm not orthodox enough/ 
looking at his father and shaking his head; ‘but to 
build railroads and lend a hand to some poor chap, 
if I can.' 

‘ Could you not find work nearer home, my boy?' 
asked the father; ‘there is plenty of both kinds 
near us here, surely.' 

‘ Lots of work, but not mine, I fear,' answered 
Graeme, keeping his eyes away from his mother’s 
face. ‘A man must do his own work.’ 

His voice was quiet and resolute, and glancing at 
the beautiful face at the end of the table, I saw in 
the pale lips and yearning eyes that the mother was 
offering up her first-born, that ancient sacrifice. But 
not all the agony of sacrifice could wring from her 
entreaty or complaint in the hearing of her sons. 
That was for other ears and for the silent hours of 
the night. And next morning when she came 
down to meet us her face was wan and weary, but 
it wore the peace of victory and a glory not of 
earth. Her greeting was full of dignity, sweet 
and gentle; but when she came to Graeme she 
lingered over him and kissed him twice. And 
that was all that any of us ever saw of that sore 
fight. 


288 


Black Rock 


At the end of the week I took leave of them, and 
last of all of the mother. 

She hesitated just a moment, then suddenly put 
her hands upon my shoulders and kissed me, saying 
softly, ‘You are his friend; you will sometimes 
come to me ?’ 

‘ Gladly, if I may,' I hastened to answer, for the 
sweet, brave face was too much to bear; and, till 
she left us for that world of which she was a part, 
I kept my word, to my own great and lasting good. 
When Graeme met me in the city at the end of the 
summer, he brought me her love, and then burst 
forth — 

‘ Connor, do you know, 1 have just discovered 
my mother! I have never known her till this sum- 
mer.* 

‘More fool you,’ I answered, for often had I, who 
had never known a mother, envied him his. 

‘Yes, that is true,’ he answered slowly; ‘ but you 
cannot see until you have eyes.’ 

Before he set out again for the west 1 gave him a 
supper, asking the men who had been with us in 
the old ’Varsity days. I was doubtful as the 
wisdom of this, and was persuaded only by 
Graeme’s eager assent to my proposal. 

Certainly, let’s have them,* he said; ‘I shall 


Graeme's New Birth 289 

be awfully glad to see them; great stuff they 
were. ' 

‘ But, I don’t know, Graeme ; you see — well — 
hang it! — ^you know — you’re different, you know.' 

He looked at me curiously. 

I hope I can still stand a good supper, and if the 
boy’s can’t stand me, why, I can’t help it. I’ll do 
anything but roar, and don’t you begin to work off 
your menagerie act — now, you hear me! ’ 

‘Well, it is rather hard lines that when I have 
been talking up my lion for a year, and then finally 
secure him, that he will not roar.’ 

‘Serve you right,’ he replied, quite heartlessly; 
‘but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll feed! Don’t 
you worry,- he adds soothingly; ‘the supper will 
go.' 

And go it did. The supper was of the best; the 
wines first-class. I had asked Graeme about the 
wines. 

‘ Do as you like, old man,’ was his answer; ‘ it’s 
your supper, but,’ he added, ‘are the men all 
straight ?’ 

I ran them over in my mind. 

‘Yes; I think so.’ 

‘ If not, don’t you help them down ; and anyway, 
you can’t be too careful. But don’t mind me; lam 


290 


Black Rock 


quit of the whole business from this out.' So ! 
ventured wines, for the last time, as it happened. 

We were a quaint combination. Old ‘Beetles,' 
whose nickname was prophetic of his future fame 
as a bugman, as the fellows irreverently said; 
' Stumpy ' Smith, a demon bowler Polly Lindsay, 
slow as ever and as sure as when he held the half- 
back line with Graeme, and used to make my heart 
stand still with terror at his cool deliberation. But 
he was never known to fumbie nor to funk, and 
somehow he always got us out safe enough. Then 
there was Rattray — ‘Rat’ for short — who, from a 
swell, had developed into a cynic with a sneer, 
awfully clever and a good enough fellow at heart. 
Little ‘ Wig ' Martin, the sharpest quarter ever seen, 
and big Barney Lundy, centre scrimmage, whose 
terrific roar and rush had often struck terror to the 
enemy’s heart, and who was Graeme’s slave. 
Such was the party. 

As the supper went on my fears began to vanish, 
for if Graeme did not ‘roar,’ he did the next best 
thing — ate and talked quite up to his old form. Now 
we played our matches over again, bitterly lament- 
ing the ‘ifs'that had lost us the championships, 
and wildly approving the tackles that had saved, 
and the runs that had made the ’Varsity crowd go 


Gmeme’s New Birth 


291 


mad with delight and had won for us. And as 
their names came up in talk, we learned how life 
had gone with those who had been our comrades 
of ten years ago. Some, success had lifted to high 
places; some, failure had left upon the rocks, and a 
few lay in their graves. 

But as the evening wore on, I began to wish that 
I had left out the wines, for the men began to drop 
an occasional oath, though I had let them know 
during the summer that Graeme was not the man 
he had been. But Graeme smoked and talked and 
heeded not, till Rattray swore by that name most 
sacred of all ever borne by man. Then Graeme 
opened upon him in a cool, slow way — 

‘What an awful fool a man is, to damn things as 
you do. Rat. Things are not damned. It is men 
who are; and that is too bad to be talked much 
about. But when a man flings out of his foul 
mouth the name of Jesus Christ' — here he lowered 
his voice — ‘it’s a shame — it’s more, it’s a crime.’ 

There was dead silence, then Rattray replied — 

‘I suppose you're right enough, it is bad form ^ 
but crime is rather strong, 1 think.’ 

‘Not if you consider who it is,’ said Graeme with 
emphasis. 

‘Oh, come now,’ broke in Beetles. ‘Religion is 


Black Rock 


292 

all iight, is a good thing, and I believe a necessary 
thing for the race, but no one takes seriously any 
longer the Christ myth.* 

' What about your mother, Beetles ? ' put in Wig 
Martin. 

Beetles consigned him to the pit and was silent, 
for his father was an Episcopal clergyman, and his 
mother a saintly woman. 

‘ I fooled with that for some time. Beetles, but it 
won’t do. You can’t build a religion that wiE take 
the devil out of a man on a myth. That won't do 
the trick. I don’t want to argue about it, but I am 
quite convinced the myth theory is not reasonable, 
and besides, it won’t work.’ 

‘ Will the other work ? ’ asked Rattray, with a 
sneer. 

‘Sure I* said Graeme; ‘ I’ve seen it.* 

‘ Where challenged Rattray. ‘I haven’t seen 
much of it.' 

‘ Yes, you have, Rattray, you know you have,* 
said Wig again. But Rattray ignored him. 

* I’ll tell you, boys,' said Graeme. ‘I want you 
to know, anyway, why I believe what I do.’ 

Then he told them the story of old man Nelson, 
from the old coast days, before I knew him, to the 
end. He told the story well. The stern fight and 


Graeme’s New Birth 


293 


the victory of the life, and the self-sacrifice and the 
pathos of the death appealed to these men, who 
loved fight and could understand sacrifice. 

‘ That's why 1 believe in Jesus Christ, and that's 
why I think it a crime to fling His name about! ’ 

‘I wish to Heaven I could say that,' said Beetles. 

Keep wishing hard enough and it will come 
to you,’ said Graeme. 

‘Look here, old chap,' said Rattray; ‘you’re quite 
right about this; I’m willing to own up. Wig is 
correct. I know a few, at least, of that stamp, but 
most of those who go in for that sort of thing are 
not much account.’ 

‘For ten years, Rattray,' said Graeme in a down- 
right, matter-of-fact way, ‘you and 1 have tried 
this sort of thing ’ — tapping a bottle — ‘ and we got 
out of it all there is to be got, paid well for it, 
too, and — faugh! you know it’s not good enough, 
and the more you go in for it, the more you curse 
yourself. So I have quit this and I am going in for 
the other.’ 

‘What! going in for preaching?’ 

‘ Not much — railroading — money in it — ^and lend- 
ing a hand to fellows on the rocks.’ 

‘ I say, don’t you want a centre forward ? ’ said 
big Barney in his deep voice. 


294 


Black Rock 


‘ Every man must play his game in his place, old 
chap, rd like to see you tackle it, though, right 
well,’ said Graeme earnestly. And so he did, in the 
after years, and good tackling it was. But that is 
another story. 

'But, I say, Graeme,' persisted Beetles, ‘about 
this business, do you mean to say you go the 
whole thing— Jonah, you know, and the rest 
of it?’ 

Graeme hesitated, then said — 

‘I haven’t much of a creed. Beetles; don’t really 
know how much I believe. But,' by this time he 
was standing, ‘ I do know that good is good, and 
bad is bad, and good and bad are not the same. 
And 1 know a man’s a fool to follow the one, 
and a wise man to follow the other, and,’ lower- 
ing his voice, ‘I believe God is at the back of a 
man who wants to get done with bad. I’ve tried 
all that folly,’ sweeping his hand over the glasses 
and bottles, ‘ and all that goes with it, and I’ve done 
with it.’ 

‘I’ll go you that far,’ roared big Barney, following 
his old captain as of yore. 

‘Good man,’ said Graeme, striking hands with 
him. 

‘Put me down,’ said little Wig cheerfully. 


Graeme’s New Birth 


295 


Then I took up the word, for there rose before 
me the scene in the League saloon, and I saw 
the beautiful face with the deep shining eyes, and 
1 was speaking for her again. 1 told them of 
Craig and his fight for these men’s lives. I told 
them, too, of how 1 had been too indolent to 
begin. ‘But,’ I said. ‘1 am going this far from 
to-night,’ and I swept the bottles into the cham- 
pagne tub. 

‘1 say,’ said Polly Lindsay, coming up in nis 
old style, slow but sure, ‘let’s all go in, say for 
five years.’ And so we did. We didn’t sign any- 
thing, but every man shook hands with Graeme. 

And as I told Craig about this a year later, when 
he was on his way back from his Old Land trip to 
ioin Graeme in the mountains, he threw up his 
head in the old way and said, ‘ It was well done. 
It must have been worth seeing. Old man Nelson’s 
work is not done yet. Tell me again,’ and he 
made me go over the whole scene with all the de- 
tails put in. 

But when I told Mrs. Mavor, after two years had 
gone, she only said, ‘ Old things are passed away, 
all things are become new; ' but the light glowed in 
her eyes till I could not see their colour. But all 
that, too, is another story. 




.A f: 


V. j r-vy^T 




s« 


With the Shield or on 


CHAPTER XV 
WITH THE SHIELD OR ON IT 

Our best deeds we often do unconsciously. Certain 
it is that nothing was further from my niind than push- 
ing my friend’s cause with the great man of the Railway 
Company for which 1 flourished my brush. But it is 
equally certain that as I turned over my sketches of 
scenes from camp life with the lumbermen and miners, 
1 found myself talking with full enthusiasm of the two 
men who filled my imagination as the greatest of all 
men 1 had yet met. The railway man kept me talking 
of Graeme for an hour and then said : * Bring your 
friend to see me to-morrow/ which 1 did to the mutual 
and lasting advantage of them both. For when Graeme 
came back to me after his interview with the great man 
he greeted me with a thumping whack and demanded 
to know with what yarns I had been regaling his 
chief’s ears. 

‘ Chief ? ’ I asked in delighted surprise. 

‘So! But how did you do it.^^’he replied. ‘With 
what material did you pack him ? ’ 

‘Pack him.? not at all. I simply gave him a few 
yarns and showed him some sketches.* 

299 


300 


Black Rock 


‘Yams and sketches! Oh, I know you and your 
tricks and your ways,' he answered, shaking his head 
at me. * All the same, old man, I owe it to you that I 
sign myself Confidential Secretary to the Superintendent 
of Construction with almost unlimited powers.' 

‘ Good man ! ' 1 shouted, ‘ when you are President 
I'll take an annual pass if you don’t mind.’ 

‘ You can get a pass out now if you want to come.' 

‘ Not yet. But when do you go ? ’ 

‘ Next week.' 

* Next v/eek I ' I cried in dismay, thinking of the 
sweet, pale face of the beautiful little lady in the r^anse 
in the country. 

* Yes ! ' he said a little sadly, * I know what you are 
thinking of. Seems selfish, but Tm afraid I must go. 
My particular chief is out there now, over the ears in 
work and he must have help at once.’ 

* It's a long way,' I said. 

" Yes,* he answered, ‘ a long way and a big work it 
will be. They say it is a five years' job.’ He paused, 
and then added, as if to himself, * and the mother is 
not very strong any time.’ 

‘ Do you think you really ought to go?* I asked. 
‘ You banish yourself, you know, from civilisation and 
decent society and your — your people have not seen 
much of you for the last ten years— and — and life is 
going on, you know,’ 


With the Shield or on It 


301 


1 could not force myselt to speak out brutally any 
fear that when he said farewell to the sweet-faced little 
lady he still loved better than all else in the world it 
would be to see her face no more. He read me quickly 
enough. 

* Don’t, old chap,’ he said, with a shake in his 
voice. * I know what you mean, and 1 have gone over 
ail that, but my work is out there and I must not 
shirk it. She will say go you’ll see.' 

And so she did. After a week of hard work getting 
his outfit together and learning something of his duties 
as Confidential Secretary to the Superintendent of 
Construction, Graeme carried me off with him to hh 
home to say goodbye. He had written fully of his 
plans, so that when his mother greeted him at the little 
garden gate, I saw by the way she held her arms about 
him, looking long into his face, that no word of entreaty 
would be spoken by her and that she had given him up. 

Those three last days were days of tender sacrament. 
Graeme talked fully of all his plans and his hopes in 
regard to the work he meant to do for the men in the 
mountains. 

* Poor chaps,’ he would say, ‘ they mostly go down 
for lack of a hand to steady them at a critical time or 
to give them a lift when they have stumbled. And 
they have most of them mothers at home and some of 
them wives,' 


302 


Black Rock 


And tlie mother would smile at him with a light of 
divine compassion in her eyes, feeling at such moments 
that for such work it were easy to have her son go 
from her. They had long walks together through the 
woods, and would come back laden with spoils, mosses 
and grasses and ferns, and they were happy with each 
other as a boy and girl in their first love. How 1 
envied him and how I pitied him. Such a love is 
earth's greatest treasure, the loss oi it earth’s greatest 
loss. But the hours of the three days fled with winged 
feet, as do all happy hours, and we came to that hour 
of sweet agony we shrink from most and yet would 
not miss. 

Long before the sun we had all been astir, for we 
had to catch an early train. Breakfast by lamplight is 
alwa}^ a ghastly affair. The food is nauseating, the 
conversation drags wearily, the whole atmosphere is 
depressing. 

Graeme was making a great effort to adopt a matter- 
of-fact tone with a little tinge of sharpness in it except 
when he spoke to his mother. The father came down 
half dressed, as we were rising from an almost untasted 
meal, to have, according to his invariable custom, a 
word of prayer. It was always an ideal, that prayer 
of his. 

A man must give up pretenses when he undertakes 
to address the Almighty. There is no place in prayer 


With the Shield or on It 303 

for simulated cheerfulness and courage, and as the old 
man prayed the barriers were borne down by the rush 
of feeling hitherto held in check by force of will. The 
brave little mother broke down into quiet weeping while 
the father commended ‘ the member of the family de- 
parting from his home this day to the care and keeping 
of the great Father from whom distance cannot separate 
and to whom no land is strange.* Graeme, too, 1 could 
see was losing his grip of himself, but the prayer rose 
into a great strain of thanksgiving for ‘ the love that 
reached down from Heaven to save a world of lost men, 
and for the noble company who were giving their lives 
to bring this love near to men’s hearts.’ Then we all 
grew quiet, and under the steadying of that prayer the 
farewells were easier. 

‘ Goodbye, Leslie, my son. God be with you and 
keep you and make you a blessing to many,’ said the 
old gentleman. His voice was grave and steady, but he 
immediately turned aside and blew his nose like a 
trumpet, remarking upon the chilly morning air. The 
mother’s farewell was without a word. She reached up 
and put her arms about her son’s neck, kissed him twice 
and then let him go. 

But while the trunks were being got on to the waggon, 
she came and stood outside the gate, looking up at us 
with a face so white and wan, but with a smile so brave, 
sa trembling, so pitiful, that 1 did not wonder that 


304 Black Rock 

Graeme suddenly sprang down from the seat and ran tc 
her. 

^Oh, mother! mother!’ he cried, in a choking voice, 
gathering her to him, * I can’t do it, I can’t do it.’ 

*Oh, yes we can, my boy,’ she answered, smiling 
while her tears flowed down her pale cheeks. ‘ For His 
sake we can.’ 

And while we drove up the hill the smile never faded 
from the face that seemed alight with a glory not of 
the rising sun. 


Coming to Their Own 


305 



CHAPTER XVI 


COMING TO THEIR OWN 

A MAN with a conscience is often provoking, 
sometimes impossible. Persuasion is lost upon 
him. He will not get angry, and he looks at one 
with such a far-away expression in his face that in 
striving to persuade him one feels earthly and ever? 
fiendish. At least this was my experience with 
Craig. He spent a week with me just before he 
sailed for the Old Land, for the purpose, as he said, 
of getting some of the coal dust and other grime out 
of him. 

He made me angry the last night of his stay, and 
all the more that he remained quite sweetly un- 
moved. It was a strategic mistake of mine to tell 
him how Nelson came home to us, and how Graeme 
stood up before the ’Varsity chaps at my supper 
and made his confession and confused Rattray’s 
easy-stepping profanity, and started his own five- 
year league. For all this stirred in Craig the hero, 
and he was ready for all sorts of heroic nonsense, 
as I called it. We talked of everything but the 
307 


Black Rock 


308 

one thing, and about that we said not a word till, 
bending low to poke my fire and to hide my face, I 
plunged — 

* You will see her, of course?’ 

He made no pretence of not understanding, but 
answered — 

‘Of course.’ 

‘There’s really no sense in her staying over there,’ 
1 suggested. 

‘And yet she is a wise woman,’ he said, as if 
carefully considering the question. 

' Heaps of landlords never see their tenants, and 
they are none the worse.’ 

‘ The landlords?’ 

‘No, the tenants.’ 

‘Probably, having such landlords.’ 

‘ And as for the old lady, there must be some one 
in the connection to whom it would be a Godsend 
to care for her.’ 

‘Now, Connor,’ he said quietly, ‘don’t. We 
have gone over all there is to be said. Nothing 
new has come. Don’t turn it all up again.' 

Then I played the heathen and raged, as Graeme 
would have said, till Craig smiled a little wearily and 
said — 

‘You exhaust yourself, old chap. Have a pipe. 


Coming to Their Own 309 

do;' and after a pause he added in his own way, 
‘What would you have? The path lies straight 
from my feet. Should 1 quit it? I could not so 
disappoint you — and all of them.’ 

And 1 knew he was thinking of Graeme and the 
lads in the mountains he had taught to be true men. 
It did not help my rage, but it checked my speech; 
so I smoked in silence till he was moved to say — 

‘And after all, you know, old chap, there are 
great compensations for all losses; but for the loss 
of a good conscience toward God, what can make 
up?’ 

But, all the same, I hoped for some better re- 
sult from his visit to Britain. !t seemed to me that 
something must turn up to change such an unbear- 
able situation. 

The year passed, however, and when I looked 
into Craig’s face again I knew that nothing had 
been changed, and that he had come back to take 
up again his life alone, more resolutely hopeful 
than ever. 

But the year had left its mark upon him too. 
He was a broader and deeper man. He had been 
living and thinking with men of larger ideas and 
richer culture, and he was far too quick in sym- 
pathy with life to remain untouched by his sur- 


310 


Black Rock 


roundings. He was more tolerant of opinions other 
than his own, but more unrelenting in his fidelity 
to conscience and more impatient of half-hearted- 
ness and self-indulgence. He was full of reverence 
for the great scholars and the great leaders of men 
he had come to know. 

‘Great, noble fellows they are, and extraordi- 
narily modest,’ he said — ‘ that is, the really great are 
modest. There are plenty of the other sort, neither 
great nor modest. And the books to be read! I 
am quite hopeless about my reading. It gave me 
a queer sensation to shake hands with a man who 
had written a great book. To hear him make com- 
monplace remarks, to witness a faltering in knowl- 
edge — one expects these men to know everything — 
and to experience respectful kindness at his hands! ' 

‘ What of the younger men ? ’ I asked. 

‘ Bright, keen, generous fellows. In things theo- 
retical, omniscient; but in things practical, quite 
helpless. They toss about great ideas as the miners 
lumps of coal. They can call them by their book 
names easily enough, but I often wondered whether 
they could put them into English. Some of them I 
coveted for the mountains. Men with clear heads 
and big hearts, and built after Sandy M’Naughton’s 
model. It does seem a sinful waste of God’s good 


3II 


Coming to Their Own 

human stuf> to see these fellows potter away their 
lives among theories living and dead, and end up 
by producing a book! They are all either making 
or going to make a book. A good thing we haven’t 
to read them. But here and there among them is 
some quiet chap who will make a book that men 
will tumble over each other to read.’ 

Then we paused and looked at each other. 

"Well?’ I said. He understood me. 

‘Yes I' he answered slowly, ‘doing great work. 
Every one worships her just as we do, and she is 
making them all do something worth while, as she 
used to make us.’ 

He spoke cheerfully and readily as if he were 
repeating a lesson well learned, but he could not 
humbug me. \ felt the heartache in the cheerful 
tone. 

‘Tell me about her,' 1 said, for I knew that if he 
W'ould talk it would do him good. And talk he 
did, often forgetting me, till, as I listened, I found 
myself looking again into the fathomless eyes, and 
hearing again the heart-searching voice, i saw her 
go in and out of the little red-tiled cottages and 
down the narrow back lanes of the village; 1 heard 
her voice in a sweet, low song by the bed of a 
dying child, or pouring forth floods of music in the 


Blacli Rock 


great new hall of the factory town near by. But 1 
could not see, though he tried to show me, the 
stately gracious lady receiving the country folk in 
her home. He did not linger over that scene, 
but went back again to the gate-cottage where 
she had taken him one day to see Billy Breen’s 
mother. 

‘I found the old woman knew all about me,’ he 
said, simply enough; ‘but there were many things 
about Billy she had never heard, and 1 was glad to 
put her right on some points, though Mrs. Mavor 
would not hear it.’ 

He sat silent for a little, looking into the coals; 
then went on in a soft, quiet voice — 

‘ It brought back the mountains and the old days 
to hear again Billy’s tones in his mother’s voice, and 
to see her sitting there in the very dress she wore 
the night of the League, you remember — some soft 
stuff with black lace about it — and to hear her sing 
as she did for Billy — ah! ah!’ His voice unex- 
pectedly broke, but in a moment he was master of 
himself and begged me to forgive his weakness. 
I am afraid I said words that should not be said 
— a thing I never do, except when suddenly and 
utterly upset. 

*I am getting selfish and weak,’ he said; * I must 


Coming to Their Own 313 

get to work. I am glad to get to work. There is 
much to do, and it is worth while, if only to keep 
one from getting useless and lazy.' 

‘ Useless and lazy!’ 1 said to myself, thinking of 
my life beside his, and trying to get command of 
my voice, so as not to make quite a fool of myself. 
And for many a day those words goaded me to 
work and to the exercise of some mild self-denial. 
But more than all else, after Craig had gone back to 
the mountains, Graeme’s letters from the railway 
construction camp stirred one to do unpleasant duty 
long postponed, and rendered uncomfortable my 
hours of most luxurious ease. Many of the old gang 
were with him, both of lumbermen and miners, and 
Craig was their minister. And the letters told of 
how he laboured by day and by night along the line 
of construction, carrying his tent and kit with him, 
preaching straight sermons, watching by sick men, 
writing their letters, and winning their hearts, mak- 
ing strong their lives, and helping them to die well 
when their hour came. One day these letters 
proved too much for me, and I packed away my 
paints and brushes, and made my vow unto the 
Lord that I would be ' useless and lazy * no longer, 
but would do something with myself. In conse- 
quence, I found myself within three weeks walking 


314 


Black Rock 


the London hospitals, finishing my course, that f 
might join that band of men who were doing some^ 
thing with life, or, if throwing it away, were not 
losing it for nothing. 1 had finished being a fool, I 
hoped, at least a fool of the useless and luxurious 
kind. The letter that came from Graeme, in reply 
to my request for a position on his staff, was 
characteristic of the man, both new and old, full of 
gayest humour and of most earnest welcome to thr 
work. 

Mrs. Mayor’s reply was like herself — 

' I knew you would not long be content with the 
making of pictures, which the world does not 
really need, and would join your friends in the 
dear West, making lives that the world needs so 
sorely.' 

But her last words touched me strangely — 

‘But be sure to be thankful every day for your 
privilege. ... It will be good to think of you 
all, with the glorious mountains about you, and 
Christ’s own work in your hands. . . . Ah! 

how we would like to choose our work, and the 
place in which to do it!' 

The longing did not appear in the words, but I 
needed no words to tell me how deep and how 
constant it was. And I take some credit to myself, 


Coming to Their Own 315 

that in my reply I gave her no bidding to join our 
band, but rather praised the work she was doing In 
her place, telling her how I had heard of it from 
* Craig. 

The summer found me religiously doing Paris 
and Vienna, gaining a more perfect acquaintance 
with the extent and variety of my own ignorance, 
and so fully occupied in this interesting and whole- 
some occupation that I fell out with all my cor- 
respondents, with the result of weeks of silence 
between us. 

Two letters among the heap waiting on my table 
in London made my heart beat quick, but with how 
different feelings: one from Graeme telling me that 
Craig had been very ill, and that he was to take him 
home as soon as he could be moved. Mrs. Mayors 
letter told me of the death of the old lady, who had 
been her care for the past two years, and of her in- 
tention to spend some months in her old home in 
Edinburgh. And this letter it is that accounts for 
my presence in a miserable, dingy, dirty little hall 
running off a close in the historic Cowgate, redolent 
of the glories of the splendid past, and of the 
various odours of the evil-smelling present, f was 
there to hear Mrs. Mayor sing to the crowd of 
gamins that thronged the closes in the neighbour- 


Black Rock 


316 

hood, and that had been gathered into a club by ‘ a 
fine leddie frae the West End,’ for the love of 
Christ and His lost. This was an * At Home ’ 
night, and the mothers and fathers, sisters and 
brothers, of all ages and sizes were present. Of all 
the sad faces 1 had ever seen, those mothers carried 
the saddest and most woe-stricken. ‘ Heaven pity 
usl’ I found myself saying; Ms this the beautiful, 
the cultured, the heaven-exalted city of Edinburgh ? 
Will it not, for this, be cast down into hell some 
day, if it repent not of its closes and their dens of 
defilement.^ Oh! the utter weariness, the dazed 
hopelessness of the ghastly faces! Do not the 
kindly, gentle church-going folk of the crescents 
and the gardens see them in their dreams, or are 
their dreams too heavenly for these ghastly faces to 
appear?’ 

i cannot recall the programme of the evening, but 
ki my memory-gallery is a vivid picture of that face, 
sweet, sad, beautiful, alight with the deep glow of 
her eyes, as she stood and sang to that dingy 
crowd. As I sat upon the window-ledge listening 
to the voice with its flowing song, my thoughts 
were far away, and I was looking down once more 
upon the eager, coal-grimed faces in the rude little 
church in Black Rock. 1 was brought back to find 


Coming to Their Ovvn 317 

myself swallowing hard by an audible whisper 
from a wee lassie to her mother — 

‘Mitherl See till yon man. He’s greetin'.' 

When 1 came to myself she was singing ‘The 
Land o' the Leal,' the Scotch ‘Jerusalem the 
Golden,' immortal, perfect. It needed experience 
of the hunger-haunted Cowgate closes, chill with 
the black mist of an eastern haar, to feel the full 
bliss of the vision in the words — 

* There’s nae sorrow there, Jean, 

There’s neither cauld nor care, Jean, 

The day is aye fair in 
The Land o’ the Leal.’ 

A land of fair, warm days, untouched by sorrow 
and care, would be heaven indeed to the dwellers 
of the Cowgate. 

The rest of that evening is hazy enough to me 
now, till 1 find myself opposite Mrs. Mavor at her 
fire, reading Graeme’s letter; then all is vivid again. 

1 could not keep the truth from her. I knew it 
would be folly to try. So 1 read straight on till I 
came to the words — 

‘He has had mountain fever, whatever that may 
be, and he will not pull up again. If 1 can, 1 shall 
take him home to my mother' — when she suddenly 
stretched out her hand, saying, ‘Oh, let me read!* 


Black Rock 


and I gave her the letter. In a minute she had read 
it, and began almost breathlessly — 

* Listen! my life is much changed. My mother- 
in-law is gone; she needs me no longer. My so- 
licitor tells me, too, that owing to unfortunate in- 
vestments there is need of money, so great need, 
that it is possible that either the estates or the works 
must go. My cousin has his all in the works — iron 
works, you know. It would be wrong to have him 
suffer. I shall give up the estates — that Hest.’ 
She paused. 

‘And come with me,’ I cried. 

‘ When do you sail ? ’ 

‘Next week,* I answered eagerly. 

She looked at me a few moments, and into ner 
eyes there came a light soft and tender, as she 
said — 

‘1 shall go with you.* 

And so she did; and no old Roman in all the 
glory of a Triumph carried a prouder heart than I, 
as I bore her and her little one from the train to 
Graeme’s carriage, crying — 

‘ I’ve got her.* 

Out his was the better sense, for he stood wav- 
ing his hat and shouting — 

‘He*s all right/ at which Mrs. Mavor grew white; 


CJoming to Their Own 319 

but when she shook hands with him, the red was 
ki her cheek again. 

‘ It was the cable did it,’ went on Graeme. * Con- 
nor's a great doctor! His first case will make him 
famous. Good prescription — after mountain fever 
try a cablegram I ' And the red grew deeper in the 
beautiful face beside us. 

Never did the country look so lovely. The 
woods were in their gayest autumn dress; the 
brown fields were bathed in a purple haze; the air 
was sweet and fresh with a suspicion of the com- 
ing frosts of winter. But in spite of all the road 
seemed long, and it was as if hours had gone be- 
fore our eyes fell upon the white manse standing 
among the golden leaves. 

‘ Let them go, ’ I cried, as Graeme paused to take 
in the view, and down the sloping dusty road we 
flew on the dead run. 

‘Reminds one a little of Abe’s curves,' said 
Graeme, as we drew up at the gate. But I an- 
swered him not, for I was introducing to each other 
the two best women in the world. As I was about 
to rush into the house, Graeme seized me by the 
collar, saying — 

‘ Hold (XI, Connor !you forget your place, you're 
next.' 


32C 


Black Rock 


‘Why, certainly,’ I cried, thankfully enough; 
‘ what an ass I am ? ' 

‘ Quite true,’ said Graeme solemnly. 

‘ Where is he ?’ I asked. 

‘ At this present moment ? ' he asked, in a shocked 
voice. ‘Why, Connor, you surprise me.’ 

‘ Oh, I see! ’ 

‘Yes,’ he v/ent on gravely; ‘you may trust my 
mother to be discreetly attending to her domestic 
duties; she is a great woman, my mother.’ 

I had no doubt of it, for at that moment she came 
out to us with little Marjorie in her arms. 

‘You have shown Mrs. Mavor to her room, 
mother, I hope,’ said Graeme; but she only smiled 
and said — 

‘ Run away with your horses, you silly boy,’ at 
which he solemnly shook his head. ‘ Ah, mother, 
you are deep — who would have thought it of you ? ’ 

That evening the manse overflowed with joy, and 
the days that followed were like dreams set to 
sweet music. 

But for sheer wild delight, nothing in my memory 
can quite come up to the demonstration organised 
by Graeme, with assistance from Nixon, Shaw, 
Sandy, Abe, Geordie, and Baptiste, in honour of the 
arrival in camp of Mr. and Mrs. Craig. And, in my 


321 


Coming to Their Own 

opinion, it added sometning to the occasion, that 
after all the cheers for Mr. and Mrs. Craig had died 
away, and after all the hats had come down, Bap- 
tiste, who had never taken his eyes from that 
radiant face, should suddenly have swept the 
crowd into a perfect storm of cheers by excitedly 
seizing his tuque, and calling out in his shrill 
voice — 

‘ By gar! Tree cheer for Mrs. Mavor.' 

And for many a day the men of Black Rock 
would easily fall into the old and well-loved name; 
but up and down the line of construction, in all the 
camps beyond the Great Divide, the new name be- 
came as dear as the old had ever been in Black 
Rock. 

Those old wild days are long since gone into the 
dim distance of the past. They will not come 
again, for we have fallen into quiet times; but often 
in my quietest hours 1 feel my heart pause in its 
beat to hear again that strong, clear voice, like the 
sound of a trumpet, bidding us to be men; and I 
think of them all— Graeme, their chief, Sandy, 
Baptiste, Geordie, Abe, the Campbells, Nixon, 
Shaw, all stronger, better for their knowing of him, 
and then I think of Billy asleep under the pines, and 
of old man Nelson with the long grass waving over 


322 


Black Rock 


him in the quiet churchyard, and all my nonsense 
leaves me, and I bless the Lord for all His benefits, 
but chiefly for the day 1 met the missionary of Black 
Rock in the lumber-camp among the Selkirks. 


TRE END 








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